by London Shah
I’m not alone. We have the Kabul. Papa is here; my papa is home.
All will be well, inshallah.
I am now armed with so many truths.
What’s the worst Captain Sebastian can do?
On the third morning after Papa’s rescue, I make my way to his room first thing, as usual. Jojo’s already there. Licking his face, the cheeky mutt.
“Oi, you muppet,” I whisper. “Told you not to bother Papa. He’s asleep.”
Except he isn’t. Papa’s eyes—once bright hazel but now dull and
distant—flutter open and shut. He moves a thin, shaky hand. I lift it and place it on my face, cupping it with my own.
Life. It flashes in his eyes. Finally. I shudder.
His lips move and I lean in. His familiar zesty, herby smell is gone, but it will return.
He repeats himself, a croaking sound escaping his throat. “Pickle?”
“Yes. Salaam, Papa.” My voice breaks. “It’s me.” Hot tears well in my eyes until I can’t hold them back. They leak, spilling over my cheeks. “You’re safe now.”
What did they put him through? I swallow, pressing my lips together to stop myself from openly sobbing. I chat quietly, telling him how Grandpa and the twins are doing.
I don’t mention how I can’t communicate with them, or how the authorities have labeled us “wanted.” I don’t say how despite such vast undersea distances, it’s suddenly as if the world’s too small, and finding safe passage and locations for us to hide out in is what consumes me now.
These aren’t the only things happening. I tell him about the Kabul. I speak of Ari.
“You’re going to really like him, Papa. He helped us so much. Jojo loves him. He’s been taking care of everything so I can look after you. Oh, and we have a ton of books now. I’ll bring some in for you soon as you’re up to it. Real Old World books—and the paper smells lush!”
Papa’s breathing slows as he falls asleep, with Jojo now curled up at his feet.
I rush into the saloon to share the good news. The whole world should know Papa woke up, but Ari will do.
My heart soars at the view outside. The water is so much cleaner here than in London. Clear cobalt-blue waves lap at the tip of the vessel as light from both the sub and the early morning solar spheres throws illumination across the mystifying vastness before me, reminding me the world isn’t as small as I suddenly fear. All around, the water is undivided, boundless. As if even time and space have no significance here. I let out a breath; it’s so perfect. I move closer.
A creature hovers in the far distance. It’s the dolphin. Skye seems to be struggling with something. Another sea creature swims toward her. I peer harder. It isn’t a creature. It’s Ari.
I stare as he swims up to Skye and liberates her of a piece of fishing net, sending it sinking into the depths. I shake my head as I watch him gliding through the water.
A human who can breathe underwater. It’s miraculous.
He turns and swims toward the sub. When he’s near enough to spot me in the viewport, he pauses a moment, before drifting closer.
How was I so frightened that first time I saw him in the water that I rejected him? It’s just him. It’s Ari. He’s beautiful. He looks so . . . natural. All that pressure and he shows no sign of it. My lips part as I watch the water flow freely in and out of his mouth.
Tentatively he swims right up to me. I place my hand on the window and smile. A memory stirs somewhere. Ari’s posture eases and his face softens. He mirrors my action, covering my hand with his on the other side.
The elusive memory is alarming now. Strong and insistent. What is it, though? Why can’t I recall it? I look at Ari and he too looks a little dazed. He keeps glancing at our hands and back at my face. Same! I mouth. And then the absurdity of it makes me laugh.
A veil lifts off me. So many things I suddenly want to ask him. So much I still don’t know about him, about his kind, about his life! About their history and what he told me of their problems. I’m ready, I want to say. I’m ready to hear everything!
Ari gazes at our hands and smiles as he watches me grinning.
And then surely my heart stops.
It happens so fast.
It happens so fast I barely understand what’s happening.
I stop breathing the moment I see the net. Thick and wiry and unforgiving. It drops around Ari and draws shut.
I stare at him, numb. His face contorts with rage as he struggles inside the trap. I gasp. Tears spring to my eyes; I can’t breathe. I yell and reach out to him, but it changes nothing.
Ari is hauled up through the current like an animal, toward the shadowy gloom of a vessel far above us.
I scream and beat my fists on the window. Skye appears, clearly distressed as she glides through the water after him. She too disappears out of sight.
I glance up through the waves, squinting desperately to see some sign of Ari, anything.
Nothing.
It’s hard to think anymore. I can’t get Ari’s face out of my mind.
Oscar was unable to trace him. All day the Kabul sped in every direction, but nothing. It’s now early evening. I want to curl up on the floor every time I replay what happened. The look in his eyes when he realized what was happening . . . It’s too much. I can’t bear it.
What do they do to Anthropoids they take alive?
Ari. The staggering strength. The way he cocks an eyebrow. How the muscle beside his mouth twitches and his eyes dance when he’s amused. The way his gaze turns darker and his face clouds when he’s worried. The amber flames that flicker in his irises. Someone very much alive.
Someone who made me happy.
I can’t stop quivering inside. The tightness in my throat makes breathing painful. Ari should be here. Not dragged through the current as if he’s an animal.
What to do now? I can’t just stay numb forever. I must find a way to focus.
Except . . . How can we treat each other like this, though?
I peer out into the melancholy waters of the North Atlantic Ocean. I reflect on the strange truths that unroll before me and stretch eternally all around. Strange, maybe. But truths nonetheless.
Fear has immobilized us.
And it might be turning us into monsters.
Fear of those different from us has caused the slaughter of so many innocent Anthropoids. Fear of the water, and of moving on—of change—has caused needless human deaths. The fear is all-encompassing, a deluge smashing into the deepest chasm inside us all. Into the gaping gulf the floods created within us. The dread breathes in the palpable darkness that sweeps all around us, ceaselessly tugging away—I should bloody know. I thought hiding in London forever would help keep me safe. From the unknown. From life.
We’ll do anything to hide in a familiar past, hoping it’ll save us, distract us from facing this world. But trying to hold on to the Old World leaves nothing for here and now—only fear. And the seasickness is just one of the side effects of that.
I think this is why Papa was really arrested. I’ll know for sure once he’s recovered, but I think he suspected the truth, looked into it, and was caught—taken away without any explanation or trial. Left to rot in a septic stone cage. I’m certain his “crimes” are discovering lies about the government, and trying to do something about it. And I am so proud of him. I straighten.
Maybe if we weren’t bombarded with the endless promotion of despair, we might think and feel differently about our lives.
Imagine if we actually looked forward to the future . . . If we could go to the moon, then I’m sure we can bloody well survive on our own planet without the constant dread. There’s still so much to look forward to.
We’re living, deep down in this liquid abyss, beneath impossible pressure and in the darkest depths, on a sphere covered in water, rotating in a galaxy inside a cosmos within a never-ending infinite space. We with our skin and bones and muscle and hearts and souls and minds and hopes and dreams, are still being. We�
�re alive.
We aren’t untethered from existence. The universe still acknowledges us, wraps us in its glittering, expanding embrace. The moon still tugs away. The sun rises and sets as ever, sustaining us even now. They didn’t abandon us down here.
We abandoned ourselves.
But enough.
“Oscar?” I whisper through my aching throat.
The Navigator appears, draped in a purple velvet cape. “My dear lady?”
“Oscar, are you able to track Ari’s heartbeat in the water?”
Ari was wrong on New Year’s Eve. The truth can set you free. I won’t let it cage me. I mustn’t let fear determine what I do with truths. Even though I am scared. Absolutely terrified.
The Navigator inclines his head. “Ah, it pains to admit one’s shortcomings, but no, regrettably not, my dear.”
I peer into the water. Where’s Skye? Oh God, I hope they didn’t manage to hurt her when she went after Ari.
“And what about thermal imaging?”
“Alas, the sea is awash with living things, my lady. The gentleman Ari would not be the only form of life to radiate heat.”
Living things. Gentleman. Form of life.
“Oscar? You know where the Faroe Islands are, don’t you?”
I can’t make any mistakes. Not a single one. If I do, the authorities will be onto me. I recall Captain Sebastian’s words and shudder: Know this: Leyla McQueen and Hashem McQueen are currently this nation’s number one enemy. It’s too dangerous to return to Cambridge—not only for myself but for Bia and her people, too. Besides, we’re close to the Faroe Islands.
The Navigator bows his head. “My dear lady, you need only give the word.”
I have to find Ari’s community, his family. Hopefully they’ll know how we can help him.
“Turn north, Oscar. We head at full speed for the Faroe Islands, in search of some simple truths.”
The Kabul sets course and speeds up.
“Oh, but, my dear,” the Navigator says, “the truth is rarely pure and never simple.”
I look down and swallow. I nod, then take a deep breath and straighten. “But . . . there’s always hope, Oscar. Always.”
THE END
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The Light at the Bottom of the World has been a labor of love and a personal lesson in determination. Creating this story remains one of the most thrilling, most satisfying, and hardest things I’ve ever done. Life delivered some unbearably difficult times during my writing it, but working
on it in the background remained a constant passion—and refuge. It’s gone through innumerable drafts, but I got here, and I’m endlessly grateful to everyone who played some part in this journey I chose to embark upon.
Thank you first and foremost to my beloveds, Aswila, Mariam, and Ibrahim, for all your unwavering support, patience, understanding, respect, and enthusiasm throughout all the years it took me to write and publish this story. You proved my fiercest champions. May you always find the light in everything you ever encounter, inshallah.
Much love to the rest of my family, and infinite gratitude for your support.
All my appreciation and love for my agent, Rebecca Podos. Thank you for loving and believing in my story, Becca. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for believing in me. I’m so grateful for all your support, encouragement, and guidance.
Huge thanks to everyone over at Hyperion: My editors, Laura
Schreiber and Augusta Harris, the conjurers of my gorgeous cover—the talented artist Mike Heath and Hyperion’s lead designer, Marci
Senders—copy chief Guy Cunningham and his brilliant crew, proofreader
Meredith Jones, managing editor Sara Liebling, Christine Saunders in publicity, Elke Villa and the whole marketing team, Molly Kong, Emily Meehan; and to everyone else at DBG, much gratitude.
Endless thanks to Michael O’Donnell (aka Moose), who at the time of my writing this story was a research scientist at the University of
Washington’s Friday Harbor Laboratories. Moose was so very kind, patient, and enthusiastic with any questions I had relating to the science of my fictional underwater world.
I’m indebted to Adam Wright, who at the time of my writing this story held the position of CEO at DeepFlight. Adam was wonderful and considerate in answering all submersible-related questions. He went above and beyond when he also generously gave me a mini tutorial via Skype, covering the basics of driving a submersible!
Much love and my deepest gratitude to Courtney Kaericher, an amazing critique partner and wonderful friend. Thank you so much for your endless enthusiasm, support, and patience, Court. I can’t wait for the world to read your beautiful words!
All my love and appreciation for my niece Juwairiah Khan who zealously read the earliest (and worst!) drafts of this story. You’ll always be a queen to me, Jojo.
I’m so grateful for my wonderful friend Tracey McNaughton. You’ve been here from the beginning, Tracey, and never wavered in your support and enthusiasm. Thank you!
I’m incredibly lucky to have encountered so many amazing souls during this journey. You all absolutely rock. I feel especially grateful for: Samantha Shannon, Marieke Nijkamp, Sabaa Tahir, Sam Copeland, Joanna Hathaway, Laura Weymouth, Sajidah K. Ali, Angie Manfredi, Rachel Strolle, Justin A. Reynolds, Anna Bright, Deeba Zargarpur,
Meredith Ireland, Heidi Heilig, Ausma Zehanat Khan, Tehlor Kay Mejia, Shannon Chakraborty, Candice Montgomery, Louie Stowell, Nadine Jolie Courtney, Sangu Mandanna, Diana Urban, Nafiza Azad, Sarwat Chadda, Claribel Ortega, Kat Cho, Naseem Jamnia, Saba Sulaiman, Kiki Nguyen, Tasha Suri, Carissa Taylor, Adiba Jaigirdar, Karen Strong, Cindy Baldwin, Heather Kassner, Fadwa, Diana Sousa, Swapna Krishna.
Heartfelt thanks to all my early readers, and especially to the following kind and generous folk for their insightful feedback: Laura Weymouth, Maria Hossain, Eric Smith, and Carissa Taylor. Carissa, you read countless random chapters and scenes in the early days, and I’m indebted to your unbelievable patience, support, and kindness.
For their brilliant editorial skills thank you to Tehlor Kay Mejia and Estella Mirai.
So much admiration and respect for those Muslim SFF authors whose works I’ve been lucky enough to discover so far, and who inspire me with how they’ve paved the way writing their fantastical, diverse stories. They are: Sabaa Tahir, Saladin Ahmed, G. Willow Wilson, Shannon Chakraborty, Ausma Zehanat Khan, Sami Shah, Nafiza Azad, Tahereh Mafi, Samira Ahmed, Hafsah Faizal, Karuna Riazi. I can’t wait to explore the other stories already out there, and urge all lovers of sci-fi and fantasy to check out the phenomenal works by these brilliantly talented authors.
Likewise, it’s also been heartwarming to discover the inclusive, stunning, and refreshingly new SFF narratives hitting our shelves from authors of color. A few firm favorites I’ve had the honor and delight of reading over the last year or so—and which I wholeheartedly recommend—are:
The Belles by Dhonielle Clayton, A Blade So Black by L. L. McKinney, Opposite of Always by Justin A. Reynolds, Empire of Sand by Tasha Suri, Dread Nation by Justina Ireland, Girls of Paper and Fire by Natasha Ngan, The Storm Runner by J. C. Cervantes, They Both Die at the End by Adam Silvera, We Set the Dark on Fire by Tehlor Kay Mejia, Wicked Fox by Kat Cho, A Spark of White Fire by Sangu Mandanna, Binti by Nnedi Okorafor, Rebel Seoul by Axie Oh, The Girl from Everywhere by Heidi Heilig, The Star-Touched Queen by Roshani Chokshi, Forest of a Thousand Lanterns by Julie C. Dao, The Wrath and the Dawn by Renée Ahdieh, Labyrinth Lost by Zoraida Córdova, MEM by Bethany C. Morrow, Shadowshaper by Daniel José Older, The Serpent’s Secret by Sayantani DasGupta, Want by Cindy Pon, A Ruin of Shadows by L. D. Lewis, The Reader by Traci Chee. I’ve gone blank now, but there are, of course, so many, many more exciting and authentically inclusive SFF tales out there by authors of color, and it’s been incredibly heartening and inspiring to discover them.
To all booksellers, librarians, educators, bookbloggers, bookstagrammers, reviewers—anyone who has ever helped to pro
mote my debut novel in any way and strived to put it in the hands of readers: Thank you. I’m deeply grateful for every single one of you.
Unwavering love for the city of London, where a story lingers in every alleyway, on every bridge, and in every lookout. You are undeniably the best and most inspirational of them all.
Finally, thank you, dear reader, for picking up this book. For selecting a science-fiction story with a British Muslim lead. For choosing to follow my beloved Leyla into her underwater world. I appreciate you more than you could ever know. May you always find the light in everything you do.
LONDON SHAH is a British-born Muslim of Afghan descent. She lives in London, via England’s beautiful North. When she’s not busy reimagining the past, plotting an alternate present, or dreaming up a surreal future, she’s most likely drinking copious amounts of tea, eating all the sweets and cakes, strolling through Richmond Park or along the Thames, getting lost on an evening in the city’s older, darker alleyways (preferably just after it’s rained), listening to punk rock, or losing herself in a fab sci-fi/fantasy film or book. If she could have only one superpower, it would be to breathe underwater.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One: London, Christmas Day, 2099
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One