by Amy Thomson
"You were down for so long!" Samad fretted as he handed her a towel. "I was afraid something had happened to you."
Teller put a cold hand on Samad's shoulder. "I'm sorry. It took longer than I expected." She shivered. "Let's go below. I'm freezing."
They spent the night in the crew pod of one of their escorts, a har captain named Demitrios, partnered with a harsel named Hookau. Samad and Teller slept on fold-down bunks in the large forward storage compartment of the crew pod. Demetrios traded in spices, and the hold had the musty, pungent, and exotic scent of his usual cargo.
Sleeping inside a strange harsel was difficult. Samad kept waking as his dreaming mind reached for Abeha and found a stranger instead. When Samad finally managed to stay asleep, he dreamed of an endless search through room after room, looking for someone that he desperately needed to find. He woke early, feeling stiff and untested. Teller looked just as tired as he felt.
"Let's get some breakfast and get going, we have a busy day ahead of us," Teller told him. "We're going to peel the skin off of the inside of Abeha's hold and make sure that her eggs are okay."
"Why do we need to do that?" Samad asked her.
"Normally, the dead skin is eaten away by the community of scavengers and cleaners living inside a harsel's hold. But our crew pod takes up so much space that Abeha's hold doesn't have enough scavengers to do the job," Teller informed him as their host set breakfast on the table. "If the skin isn't peeled away, Abeha's eggs won't ripen properly. It's a delicate, messy job. Are you up for it, Samad?"
He nodded. He would do anything to help Abeha.
"Isidro and I will help, too," their host offered.
"Efaristo, Demitrios," Teller thanked him. "We appreciate it."
"Sera, we are honored to be able to help you and Abeha."
Teller looked down for a moment, then glanced up again. "It is a kindness we are honored to accept."
"Well, then, eat up, eat up. Especially you, little one," Demetrios said, ruffling Samad's black curls. "Na fao. You look too thin."
Samad glanced at the metal mirror on the locker door opposite the table. His reflection shocked him. His face looked as thin and careworn as it had when he lived on the streets of Melilla. Abeha's transition had been hard on all of them, and there were still many more months to go before the end.
He took another mouthful arid munched dutifully away, though the food had turned tasteless in his mouth at the thought of Abeha's death. He couldn't imagine the great harsel dead. She was too huge, too fully alive to ever die. How could he fill the hole left in his soul when she was gone? He swallowed and pushed his plate away, his breakfast turned to stone in his stomach.
"Efaristo, Demitrios," he thanked his host. "It was delicious, but I'm full now."
After breakfast, Teller rowed over to their crew pod and
clambered aboard, emerging with an armload of diving gear, while Samad busied himself with the dishes.
"Now that the lining of her hold is peeling away, Abeha needs to keep the eggs submerged," she said when she returned. "We'll be working underwater, in dive gear. That water's cold; you'll need your wetsuit," Teller said, handing it to him, along with a swim mask, gloves, fins, and a scraper.
"You need to be careful with that scraper," Teller advised. "You don't want to push too hard and damage her eggs."
Samad nodded solemnly and began pulling on his dive suit. The insulating skin of the suit clung to itself as he tugged it on. He wondered, as he always did, where Teller had found the suit. Off-world dive suits like these were rare on Thalassa, especially small ones in his size. She claimed to have found it used in a shop in Nueva Ebiza, but he'd never seen a suit like it on sale anywhere.
Samad could feel a slight pressure in his mind as Hookau spoke inwardly to Demetrios.
"Isidro is on his way over with the boat," Demetrios told them. "Abeha's ready as well."
A few minutes later, Samad heard the whining growl of Isidro's skiff. They climbed out onto Hookau's back to meet him. It was a misty, dead calm morning.
"Good weather for it today, eh?" Isidro observed as they climbed into his skiff. "Too bad it wasn't calm like this yesterday."
Teller nodded, and they sped off to where Abeha waited for them. As they drew near, Samad could make out her ballast chamber gaping open just below the surface. Isidro dropped anchor a little distance away. When the skiff was safely anchored, they dove over the side. Silver trails of bubbles trickled out of Teller's rebreather as she led them into the darkness of Abeha's immense hold.
Samad sucked a hissing breath through his rebreather and exhaled, sending a stream of bubbles rising to the surface like silver jellyfish. He played his light over the walls of Abeha's hold and breathed out another whoosh of bubbles in surprise. The familiar space of her hold looked like it had been vandalized. Shreds of skin hung like wet laundry from the vaulted walls of the harsel's ballast chamber. Samad swallowed. There was a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach at the sight.
"it's all right, samad." Abeha reassured him. "I know
IT LOOKS TERRIBLE, BUT UNDERNEATH THAT UGLY DEAD SKIN ARE THOUSANDS OF HEALTHY EGGS. MY HOLD WILL BE FULL OF HEALTHY YOUNG HARLINGS. WITH SO MANY YOUNG, IT IS CERTAIN THAT THE THREAD OF MY LIFE WILL BE CARRIED ON BY MY CHILDREN."
Teller beckoned Samad over and showed him how to lift away the dead skin with the scraper. Under the skin lay a thick, protective layer of mucus. Beneath the mucus, Samad could see Abeha's eggs gleaming dimly, like big, translucent grapes. On the other side of the hold he could see the lights of Dimitrios and Isidro flickering through the water as they cleared away dead skin. Teller tapped Samad on the shoulder and pointed at a brown patch about half a meter wide. Teller mimed a blow, and he nodded understanding. It was a bad spot where the eggs had been damaged during the removal of the pod.
They worked steadily, clearing about a quarter of the harsel's hold. When they became chilled, they climbed back into the skiff, pulled anchor, and sped back to Hookau. While the others warmed themselves on Hookau's back, Demitrios went below to heat some soup. They sat with the sun heating their backs, sipping hot avgolemono, rich with chicken and thick with rice. After the soup, there was feta cheese, olives, and some thick, hard, ship's biscuits.
Isidro's appreciative belch and sigh of satiation broke the silence. Samad ducked his head at Demetrios in appreciation.
"Abeha looks amazingly good," Dimitrios observed, "I've never seen so clean a hull wall, Teller. There's a lot of eggs, and almost no parasite damage. You've taken good care of her."
Teller shrugged, but Samad could see that the compliment pleased her.
"It's particularly amazing, given Abeha's age," Isidro added. "Her previous captains have also done right by Abeha. Do you know who they were?"
Teller shook her head. "No, I don't. She's been with me most of my life though. How long have you been with Halina?" she asked. Under Teller's apparent ease, Samad thought he noticed a note of wariness.
"Halina was with my mother," Isidro said. "I grew up inside him. When mother retired, Halina asked me to continue on as his har captain. My mother misses him a lot. She still sails with us every chance she gets." He looked somber for a moment. "I can't imagine life without him."
Samad began gathering up the dishes with a loud rattle. "Is there anything else I can bring up for you?" he asked politely, determined to divert the conversation from this disastrous path. "Some more coffee or cheese?"
Dimitrios and Isidro shook their heads.
"We're fine." Teller said. "Demetrios, you did the cooking, we'll do the washing up. Samad, I'll help you carry the dishes downstairs."
They finished cleaning Abeha's hold late the next afternoon. Every scrap of dead skin had been removed. The walls of the harsel's hold gleamed in the light of their headlamps. Nearly every centimeter of her hold was covered with green eggs the size of muscat grapes. Teller had to admit that it
was an impressive sight. Few wild harsels could boas
t of such fertility. This solid expanse of eggs was the result of years of careful maintenance. Over the centuries, Teller had meticulously removed parasites from the walls of Abeha's hold before they could cause permanent scarring.
"thank you, teller," Abeha said, "this is your
ACHIEVEMENT AS MUCH AS IT IS MINE."
Teller shrugged. She found it hard to take pride in this. "I'm glad that you are pleased," she managed to say.
"i know," Abeha replied, acknowledging all that Teller left unsaid.
This would be Teller's and Samad's last time in the harsel's hold. Abeha would keep her hold shut tight, protecting her developing eggs, until she mated.
A couple of months after mating, Abeha's eggs would hatch. Her hold would be filled with thousands of harlings, each silvery fish as long as Teller's little finger. They would live and grow inside her hold, nourished by a gelatinous "milk" secreted by the lining of her ballast chamber. In time, the harlings would grow twenty centimeters or longer. But nourishing her young would slowly deplete Abeha's own flesh, and in the end . . .
Teller shook her head. She should focus on the present. Every last minute inside Abeha's hold was precious.
Finally, it was time to go. She motioned to Samad that they were leaving. Samad swam slowly up and out, pausing at the mouth of Abeha's hold to lay a hand on the harsel in farewell. Then it was Teller's turn. She looked back into the vast cavern of Abeha's hold, remembering all the years she had lived there.
"Oh, Abeha!" Teller cried inwardly, feeling as though the pain would tear her apart.
Abeha enfolded her in a surge of grief and love, "I wish
THINGS WERE DIFFERENT. I WISH I COULD LIVE AND SEE
MY CHILDREN GROW UP, AS HUMANS DO. I WISH WE COULD BE TOGETHER FOREVER!"
"I know," Teller said. "I wish you could, too."
Teller turned and followed her bubbles up to the surface, feeling her connection with Abeha grow more tenuous with each passing meter. Somehow she made it to the stern of the skiff that Isidro had loaned them for this final trip. Samad helped her into the boat. She stumbled to the bow and sat down, feeling like she had been torn open.
Teller looked down into the sunlit water, watching the rays of sunlight waver and diffuse in the depths. A sea flower drifted past, its bell undulating in the waves. She closed her eyes. Though she had spent months and even years parted from the harsel, Abeha's presence lingered in the back of her mind. The knowledge that Abeha was out there in the sea sustained her, even when the great fish was half a world away. Despite her promises, she doubted that she would outlive Abeha by very much. They were too closely linked to live without each other. The harsel's death would be hers as well.
She looked over at Samad, busy starting the skiffs engine. What was going to happen to him after she was gone? She needed to provide for his future.
Despite the spotty training he had received, Samad showed a real gift for storytelling. Probably the best thing she could do was to train him as well as she could. She could use her Guild connections to ensure that he would have the finest teachers when she was gone. But he needed to be worthy of those teachers. He tended to get too carried away by the stories he was telling, giving away their endings. His voice had a pleasing tone and timbre, but it was still weak. He needed to learn to project more. And there were so many other things he needed to learn. Samad was good, but he needed to be better. It was time to get serious about his training.
After a lunch that neither of them had much appetite for, they settled themselves on Hookau's broad back.
"Tell me the story of 'Nazreddin's Pot'," she commanded.
"Very well, then," Samad replied. He sat up straight, and with a mischievous grin, began.
"Once there was and twice there wasn't, a very wise mullah named Nazreddin. One day he needed to cook dinner for a number of his friends. None of his pots was big enough. So he went to a neighbor and borrowed a pot from her. The next day, he returned the pot. Inside was another, much smaller cooking pot.
" 'What is this little pot for?' the woman asked Mullah Nazreddin.
" 'Well, last night after dinner, your pot gave birth. This is its baby.'
"The neighbor was pleased but astonished. She thanked the mullah for bringing back the baby pot with its mother.
" 'It would be a shame to separate a family,' Nazreddin told her solemnly.
"A few months later, Mullah Nazreddin had to give another feast. He went to his neighbor and borrowed her big pot. The neighbor gladly loaned it to him.
" 'Do you think the pot will give birth again?' she wondered as she handed him the pot.
" 'Only Allah knows for sure,' Mullah Nazreddin replied gravely.
"Several days passed, but there was no sign of the pot. A whole week passed, and the neighbor finally went to Nazreddin's house to retrieve the pot.
"When she got there, she found the house in mourning.
" 'Who has died?' the neighbor asked Nazreddin.
" 'I'm very sorry, but your pot died two days ago,' Nazreddin told her sadly.
" 'What! How can that be? A pot cannot die!' the neighbor cried.
" 'If you believed me when I said that your pot had a baby, why don't you believe me when I tell you that your pot has died?'"
Samad remembered the story correctly and told it well, but the twinkling in his eyes and his broad smile telegraphed the punchline too far in advance.
"Now, tell it in Greek," she said. "And try not to enjoy the ending so much. You're giving it away."
They spent the rest of the day working on Samad's storytelling. Samad told the Nazreddin story in several languages, altering the inflection and the pacing, until Teller was satisfied with each version. When his voice tired, Teller lectured him briefly on how to speak without straining his voice, and then she taught him another story.
The next day they arrived at Jerba al-Haddis, a rocky coastal oasis ringed round with high yellow sandstone cliffs. There they bid a grateful farewell to Demetrios and Isidro, who were bound farther south and east, to the Spice Belt. Teller traded the dory and two gold ingots for a schooner named Esmeralda. Samad's eyes widened when she produced the precious metal, but he said nothing.
The Esmeralda was a ten-meter schooner. She was a well-built, seasoned vessel, showing signs of wear but in excellent repair despite her age. Teller and Samad moved all their usable gear from the crew pod into the schooner. She put the emptied crew pod into storage and paid down a year's rent.
"Why don't you just sell it, sera?" the harbormaster asked her. Clearly he had heard that Abeha had become female.
Teller shook her head. "Who would need such a thing? It's too big to fit most harsels. Besides, it's too old and out of date to interest another har captain. Put it up where it will
be high, dry, and out of the way, and I'll be back for it in a year or so."
"As you wish, sera," the harbormaster said with a polite bow.
Teller watched anxiously as they loaded the battered old crew pod into the top bay of their dry dock. She looked up at it for several long minutes after the stevedores had stowed it and left. So much of her life had been lived inside that windowless box. Even though she knew that the worn old crew pod would never be used again, she couldn't bear to cast it off. It held too many memories.
Teller took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment, and then turned to leave the pod behind.
"Let's go, Samad," Teller said. "Abeha's waiting for us."
CHAPTER 8
THEY TURNED EAST AFTER JERBA AL-HADDIS. Abeha fed ravenously the whole way. The thick layer of fat under Abeha's skin made her back feel rubbery underfoot. Her fat buoyed the harsel up so that she bobbed like a rubber duck in the water, her sides exposed nearly to her eyes. Teller and Samad rode on her back whenever the weather was fair.
As they headed east, more and more harsels joined their fleet, until they were surrounded by a vast forest of sails, shading from palest white, to pink, blue, and purple. T
hey were joined by half a dozen other females, smaller than Abeha, but still well grown and long-lived. Harsel outriders scouted out the richest patches of plankton, ensuring that the females ate well.
The fleet converged on the Tabbal Archipelago on the edge of the Samali Sea. They sailed into the broad channel between Zafran and Filfil islands, and there, spread out
across the channel, were thousands of harsels. There were more harsels than Samad had ever seen before, more than he had known existed.
"So many harsels!" Samad exclaimed. "Every harsel in the world must be here.
Teller shook her head. "No, Samad. There are over a million harsels living in the oceans of Thalassa. There are maybe seven or eight thousand here. The rest are mating elsewhere. Still, this is a bigger accumulation of mating harsels than I've seen in a long time. I think they're here to do honor to Abeha."
"Are there really that many harsels?" Samad marveled.
"Thalassa is a big place, Samad. Ninety percent of it is ocean. There's room for more than anyone can imagine in these seas. Humans have barely scratched the surface of this world. And that's as it should be."
Samad looked at the vast array of harsels sailing back and forth in the channel.
The waiting harsels greeted Abeha and the other females with a clamorous rejoicing of mindsong. An escort of over a hundred already-arrived females sailed out to greet them.
"Morituri te salutamus," Teller said in a voice full of ironic pain.
"What?" Samad asked. "That isn't Italian."
Teller shook her head. "It's Latin, Samad, one of the grandmother languages for Italian, and Spanish, too. The phrase means, 'We who are about to die salute you.'"
"hush, that's enough pain for today, this is a celebration, teller," Abeha admonished.
"I'm sorry, Abeha. I'm not in the mood for a party. We'll go anchor and get settled at Uberagua's tayerna. This is for the harsels, anyway."
"they would do you honor as well," Abeha told
her. "they know your loss, and wish to ease it if
THEY CAN."
"Thank them for me, and tell them that I will join them later," Teller said. "I just can't do it, Abeha."