by B L Barkey
He swallowed less water this time, though his fishing pole still tasted of dried sea-salt and fish slime. He dove under the looming crests. Soon after passing the last roll of waves he spotted his rock. He clambered on top then spread out on the warm surface like a starfish. His neck was sore from the drag caused by the fishing pole, but it was fine. Everything felt distant these days. Even physical pain.
He listened to the wind. It seemed so long ago since his song of Stardust, when he had called to this element. Would it come to him again? Unlikely, he thought. I have changed so much. Once full of hope and dreams, I’m now doubtful and lost. I doubt the wind even now.
He caught four fish within the next twenty minutes, each the sort with bird beaks for mouths which they used to break oysters. He threaded them through the gills with a thin rope then tied them to the side, where they now carelessly swam around his perch, enjoying what was their last hours of life.
It was another beautiful afternoon, with wisps of cloud giving the occasional reprieve from the Sun. A few hours later, Ammon heard movement. He opened his eyes and looked towards the sound. Bubbles broke the smooth surface about twenty feet away.
On a whim, he decided to cast his bait into the bubbles. He pulled out four more fish from the hole, giving him the thrill that made the long wait worth it. Then he felt his line snag. He tugged at it lightly at first. When there was no movement, he started whipping the line. Then, yanking it in frustration, the line came free. He reeled it in, knowing he had broken off his lure.
Cursing to himself, he tied on a new swivel and lure. In the corner of his eye he saw the bubbles fading. He cursed again, falling to his butt. Stupid hook. Stupid world. For Cephas-sake, cut me some slack.
After he finished his last knot, the bubbles returned. About time, he thought, stubbornly relieved. The bubbles made a pattern of this, fading and returning every few minutes. When the bubbles were going, the fish were biting.
He was unsure what caused this though he couldn’t complain. Perhaps the fish enjoyed feeling the bubbles on their little scaly bodies, causing them to lower their inhibitions and swallow any food that came near, believing themselves to deserve such convenient meals after a hard life at sea. Or maybe they got caught in the bubble streams on accident and were forced closer to the surface, looking for any possible escape. The second seemed more likely. Whatever the cause, Ammon was content with the result.
He cast his lure high, sinking it into the bubbles. He reeled it in with no luck, then cast again. He repeated this until his mind started to wander.
That’s when the hook set. His pole was nearly ripped from his hands. The hook caught tighter than ever before. He knew it to be the largest catch of his life as a rolling tide formed above where his line ripped out to sea. He was yanked to his feet, leaning back while cranking his thick line. Still exhausted from his Trials weeks before, his breath escaped him all too quickly. Yet he held on as his line disappeared feeding into the depths.
He felt the power of the beast weaken as he sought for constant pressure and patience. Then suddenly, the great force ripped the pole from his hands. Stunned, he stared at the foaming waters. Seconds later his pole resurfaced held afloat by its handle made of hollow plant shafts. How did it break free? He thought, lamenting over the loss of his trophy, while also feeling quite relieved. He stood up straight, stretching out his taut back muscles. Did it catch on a rock? Or was my line worn out?
By instinct, he went to step off into the waters. Then something stopped him. It was the feeling in his chest that something very large was nearby. Something living, moving. Perhaps this was the great force which had removed his fish. He did not plan on being fish-food today. He looked for motion all around. He could see far into the waters from the rock, yet there was nothing there. He looked to his four fish but they were also gone, along with the rope. He could see tiny scales floating on the surface. He felt alert but also surreal. His thoughts felt clouded like they always did when he was depressed. The cloudiness blocked his foresight, diminishing the severity of any impending doom.
But he knew one thing for sure. He loved his fishing pole. It was the one Mikael had made for him, and he was missing his brother something fierce. Was he willing to sacrifice this remnant of his brother for a feeling? I could wait a few minutes. Perhaps it’ll go away. But he knew the truth. Soon his reel would fill with water, eventually sinking it to the bottom. He probably had less than a minute to decide.
He knew what he had to do. Holding his breath, he leapt into the freezing waters. It was refreshing at first as it cooled his sunburn, but it quickly grew cold as it froze even his thoughts. He reached for his rod with numb fingers, grasping the handle and whipping back towards the rock. His imagination filled the air with quick, disappearing images of bloody teeth which made his breath even more ragged. He thought of leviathans as every image he’d ever seen of them merged together, creating some fused amoeba of terror. He saw the beast in the glares of the waves and the shadows of the crests.
Then he felt it. Felt something real. A soft, rubbery fin brushing past his foot. His heart exploded in his chest. He flung his arms forward, struggling to get out of the water. He tossed his pole up on the rock while reaching for a grip. His hand slipped on wet stone sending him backwards into the water submerged over his head. All sound vanished. His vision was blurred. Another fin brushed his foot. He felt a crisp ‘clicking’ sound surge through the water, then through his body.
He breached the water, though fear still gripped him, stifling his breathing. He clambered on top of the rock, lying low as if hiding from whatever was hunting him. The warmth from the rock brought relief to his limbs and his soul, finally allowing him to take deep breaths. Air rushed in, instantly drying his throat and rubbing it raw like sandstone.
Finally, he dared to look back into the water. What followed was a moment that realistically only lasted a few seconds, yet felt like several hours. He saw it. One great eye the size of his head, looking right back at him. It rested within a massive head that glistened. Water shot from its back with a loud spurt, casting a haze over the entire scene, slowing down time even further to a near standstill. And the eye looked at him, taking him all in.
It was not an eye of aggression, nor of a deadly beast. It was the eye of a friend, peeking with curiosity at what the other was becoming. This feeling arose in Ammon so unexpectedly that he gasped aloud, stuck between laughing and sobbing. There was patience and youth in the eye. There was understanding, knowledge, energy. Recognition. Surrounding the eye to its soul was another eye, massive and painted into its body with the marble white blend straight from the celestial palette.
He felt as if this painted eye also looked at him, though with less perception of the physical and more of the spiritual. It looked through him. It saw his unseen being. His very essence and beliefs. It was the same feeling when someone was staring at him. Countless times he had felt pressures upon him, only to look up and see a glaring stranger. He felt this when he played Equilibria, for thousands of eyes were on all of them then. It was a shift in the air that told him he was being observed, almost as if hearing the flutter of wings from a passing bird. He felt this now, twice over and deeper down.
After several sprays of breath out its blowhole, the creature looked away with the same sorrow often held in goodbyes. It slipped beneath the surface, all while its black fin reached to the heavens with purpose. Upon its back, to the left of the fin, was pink tissue. It was a scar, telling the tale of an injury once known. It was this creature’s story given to Ammon in exchange for his own.
Ammon felt a pain born of empathy sear into his body. It was tangible, just to the left of his spine. The scar disappeared beneath the surface and its beckoning tail pushed the creature into the depths. Ammon sat there sprawled out on the rock. He wanted nothing more than to relive that moment, again and again, for all eternity.
It was a similar feeling he had when walking into the Leviticum. A feeling of balance. A feeling
that unlimited knowledge was at his fingertips, if only he could find the time to read every book buried within its walls. Given the time, and a common tongue with which to communicate, perhaps this creature could have taught him just as many truths as would a million books. But for now, it was gone.
Just then, bubbles danced on the surface once more. Ammon knew then for sure that it was the orca who created these bubbles. There he sat, watching the bubbles until the afternoon Sun painted the sky as it always did, with its ever-shifting patterns as the most dependable of landscape illustrators. It was always there, even when others were not.
He felt betrayed by the Guardians. As if he had been led all his life to believe he could become one of them. He felt betrayed by his parents, the Levitians, and even his friends for this same reason. But not the Sun. Never the Sun, for it was always there. Or at least, it would always return after a brief reprieve, leaving behind the moon as a promise.
He peeked over the rock edge one more time, still unsure of whether to be thrilled or fearful. Being near a creature of such immensity left his feelings on this balanced reality. He spotted the orca with its faint white markings colored blue with the depths. The markings grew whiter as it approached him. He started back but kept looking, and it soon turned away.
Its massive white eye still watched him. The watching eye of another lonesome creature. And suddenly, he knew. That’s why L’Nala always finds me. Why the Wolf-Mother, and even this orca seek me out. It’s because we are all lonesome creatures, made strong in our solitude.
Ammon fell back on the rock. Fatigue doused him like heavy rain as he slipped into a dream state. It was here, suspended half-awake and half-asleep, where he saw only the painted eye of the orca. A foreign word appeared in his mind then. A word he had never heard, nor read about before.
“Kokuabeam.”
The word, or rather, the name, played on his mind and then his lips. Whether it was the name of the orca or something else, Ammon held it close as if it would somehow connect them. As he held it, he knew for sure. It was indeed the name of the creature. Kokuabeam. Kokua. Or so it will be from now on.
Eventually he awoke to full consciousness. He looked to the bubbles but they were gone. Yet he felt the presence of Kokua, gliding with its watchful eye. The waning moon grew brighter along with the glowfish as if summoning them.
“I love this island so much,” he said aloud, perhaps to Kokua. “All I had wanted was to become a Guardian for it. To protect it and the life within.” Pangs of reality struck his heart, making him dizzy. He knelt in pain as it brought him back to the person he was before meeting Kokua. I want to leave this place. To leave this reality behind. Take me from here.
He looked into the distance, seeing shapes below the surface that could have been either Kokua and his whale family, or just his mind playing tricks. Illusions of imagination were formed quicker in water than in air, after all. Yet he soon saw the fins appear, growing and then sinking as Kokua and his pack drifted away. Alone for but awhile, someday reunited.
This reminded Ammon of another species. L’Nala and the Mother-Wolf. They too traveled in packs, protecting and living with their families, though venturing alone to seek out strength. Yet all the while, the pack remained linked. Depending on one another. Protecting each other. It is the same for us, he thought. Mikael is still with us, even if he is…
A tear rolled down his cheek. He would have to leave his family behind. He could feel it coming. He could sense his heart separating itself even now, venturing out for strength.
He would be alone. Like Kokua and L’Nala, though for much longer. In this, these three were the same. They sought out solitude, perhaps just to be themselves. Or even to meet others like themselves, realizing with transcendent comfort that they are never truly alone after all.
L’Nala and Kokua had entrusted their names to him in these brief encounters. He held the names sacred, sharing them with none. Perhaps that’s what had first separated him from his own family. When I kept my first secrets. Maybe that was why he needed to go further into isolation. To find himself. To find his own name.
A part of him knew that Mikael was doing the same. He was alone with the Guardians, growing into who he would become. And yet, he had left Ammon behind. He has left his pack behind. Ammon shook his head. He knew it was unfair to feel this way. My failure was my own. Still, the song of truth remained the same. Mikael was gone and Ammon was alone.
II
Before his emotions could overwhelm him, Ammon swam back to shore and entered the Shadows. He was going to search for L’Nala. He wanted to see her, to pet her soft ears and confirm the feeling linking him to her and Kokua.
He started barefoot, holding his sandals in his hand. This was how he thanked nature for the gift he had received that afternoon. If he could remain close to nature, even physically so, he felt like he was somehow closer to Kokua. His old friend. His new friend. It was a weird feeling. I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?
He had seen things in its eyes. They seemed to cut right to the core of things, as if seeing the finer particles Kodin often spoke of. And perhaps that was exactly what he had seen. It was like looking into the eyes of a loved one, only to see your own reflection held there with serenity and endearment. So perhaps the creature could indeed see finer particles, shifting them then so Ammon could literally see through their eyes. It had reminded him of his song Stardust, though its form had remained cloudy. Yet it still seemed enough to have seen them at all, thanks to Kokua and his eyes.
The one blue eye and the painted, watching eye. Both were purifying, causing his thoughts to reflect on the greater meaning of things. And for the first time in a while, he truly pondered on recent events.
Why had so many strange things been happening? As each thing happened, he had dealt with it and pushed it aside, preparing for the Trials. But now that the Trials were over, it all flooded back in. The wind calling to me. The vivid dreams. The snow leopard. Dying fish in the Whirlpool. The death of the Arcanums, just after they uncovered the old ways of decay. The phantom storm and its glowing beasts. The murders of Maison, and the great beast that took him… The stone woman in the well. Kokuabeam.
And most of all, my dark dreams of the approaching threat, which seems to be the driving force behind it all. I'm not sure how or why, but it feels that way. It's all blurred, like the line between black and white, like the Gray itself. Conqueror had memories of sacrificing his own island. Morningstar is furious that Cephas Island didn't fall the same way. Though these dreams are scary, there was nothing I could've done to stop the phantom storm anyways. And if I tell these dreams to others, they may fade away. For now, I will watch them and see.
As he reflected on the events, he noticed a pattern. Many of the occurrences centered around the ocean. Not all of them, of course, but many. Yet even more central was the final discussion he had with the Arcanums, the one of disease and temptation. He held back tears as he recalled the memory, his heart sinking in his chest with leaden weight.
They had spoken of disease and decay. Of temptation. At the core of it, they had spoken of ancient evils returning. As he matched these theme to the events, it all seemed to tie together. Death. Disease. Temptation. It’s all coming back.
A twig snapped to his right, bringing him back from the past to the present. He froze, as did the shadowed creature he now saw. This startled him more than he would have liked. He grew angry, reaching for a stone, and then stopped.
It was L’Nala. He relaxed and fell to his knees. She stepped from the brush, her white and grey-brown fur glistening as morning dew on grass, as water-washed sands scattered with sea glass. It tied her to Kokua, the relationship cyclical. They were tied together in their meaning. It was the Wayothe, because he knew it to be true without fully understanding why.
L’Nala approached him. She trotted slowly with many pauses, making him wonder if she had injured paws. Then he realized she was being cautious. She looked at him with a hint of distrus
t in her eyes. This hurt him more than he would have imagined. She had always trusted him fully. On a normal day, she would have bounded from the trees nearly bowling him over. But not today. Her tail was lying straight down, brushing the dirt behind her steps.
He waited for her to close the gap herself. She paused within a foot of his face, looking into him. A spark appeared in her eye as if she finally recognized him. Her tail flicked ever-so-slightly, then hung low once more.
It was this more than anything that told Ammon the truth. She was in mourning. And then it hit him. How had he not noticed before? The pup that Maison had murdered was her brother.
She froze, her ears both turning towards Ammon. She looked up, cautious once more. And then she growled at him, her teeth bared. Ammon started, though he did not retreat, as he was disturbingly unafraid to lose his life. He hoped it was because he trusted the wolf. Yet it also could’ve been his exhaustion. The tiredness of living.
Her growl diminished to a rumble as confusion fell upon her. Her ice-blue eyes bounced back and forth between his own, questioning him and herself all at once. He raised his hand slowly, then placed it on her head between her ears. She paused, then leaned into his hand.