by J Seab
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Bathus was revered by most in her pod, not only for her wise counsel but also for the extensive knowledge she carried concerning the strange man-creatures that played among the dolfinas near the made-reef.
But the pod also thought her odd.
She spent many day-parts speaking with one of the man-creatures, the storyteller, who told her much about the dry-lands they lived on. He told her strange stories the pod found difficult to understand, stories about many kinds of made-things and about how man-creatures lived. And he often led her into the new waters where there were many decaying man-caves and explained that this was where man-creatures once lived before their man-caves were covered by the rising seas. And he showed her other man-cave clusters that protruded above the seas for many body-spans. Bathus swam through some of these and examined them carefully with her sound-sight but could not understand why the man-creatures would want to enclose themselves in such small spaces or live crowded together among so many other cave clusters, shutting themselves off from the freedom and beauty of their lands. The storyteller then showed her smaller made-things that he said man-creatures rode to travel across the land or on the water and even through the air, much like the boat he rode that day. On other days he took her to another place and showed her huge man-caverns and explained that many man-creatures used to work there to make the many different kinds of made-things that his people wanted. After that, he brought many of these made-things with him to show her. Some she could understand, others were a mystery.
Then one day, after a big storm of wind-water, he came to the made-reef riding a different kind of boat, one that sat high in the water and created a great wind that pushed it along. Attached to it was a flat, soft platform. He asked her to follow him far to the north. After a journey of several day-parts, they came to a great empty plain that was only recently covered by the seas. He helped her on top of the platform and covered her body so that she was comfortable and protected. He then made the noisy wind-boat travel deep into the plain. They passed into an area where numerous regular rows of dying plants stood within a shallow sea. He pulled some of these up and showed them to her, explaining that these too were partly made-things, that some man-creatures of great knowledge changed them to provide more food for the many-times-many-times-many man-creatures that lived on the land. After this, he returned to the boat and made it travel into a different area. Here they found the rotting bodies of several types of eating-creatures, some small, others much larger than she was. He explained that these eating-creatures had also been changed into made-things to better feed his people.
The storyteller returned with her to the made-reef and told her that he wouldn’t be able to come back for many day-cycles. He said that the shattered lands, spreading diseases, rising seas, and a dwindling supply of food and made-things were causing many of his people to fight among themselves. He said it was dangerous to travel. He told her that when he returned she should be ready for a long journey. She would be gone for most of a sun-cycle, he said, and he had an important task for her pod. He told her to be cautious around man-creatures traveling in the pod’s waters and to expect the seas and currents and schools of fish upon which they fed to change. He said that she and her pod were special and must survive the growing troubles. He then left.
Bathus deliberated long on the things the storyteller had told and showed her. She shared them all with her pod, explaining that these were important things to carry within their pod-memory. She also told them that she must leave soon on a long journey and that they should use the things they had learned to protect themselves and to prosper.
It was several sun-cycles before Bathus saw the storyteller again.
She traveled every day-cycle that she could to the made-reef to watch for him. Every sun-cycle the storms of wind-water and rumblings within land and sea grew stronger and the seas smothered more and more of the man-creatures’ dry-land and man-caves. Soon, the made-reef was deep under water. Most of the pod’s prey had moved south, taking her pod with them. She would sometimes see great boats on the water booming bright tongues of heat at one another. She advised her pod to travel far south to avoid the man-creatures and their tongues of fire. She stayed close to the made-reef to keep watch, waiting for the return of the storyteller as he promised.
One day, near the beginning of a new warm-cycle, as she floated near the submerged made-reef, her head out of the water, she felt a deep thrum vibrating through the water. Fearing another predatory man-creature, she immediately dived. The thrumming grew in intensity and then there was a great splash made upon the surface.
Cautiously, she poked her head above the water.
An odd boat was slowing, turning in her direction. It appeared to have long flippers that extended from its sides and smaller ones at its tail. It slowed to a stop and a small section opened along its side. A man-creature leaned out and surveyed the waters in her direction. Bathus’s heart leaped. It was the storyteller, she was certain. He had finally returned. Eagerly, she swam over.
The storyteller spotted her, leaped into the water, and swam toward her. They swam about each other, touching flipper to arm, cavorting like youngsters. Soon, the storyteller beckoned her to follow him back to the odd boat. “This,” he said as he climbed back into the opening, “is a boat that flies. I ask you to join me inside to begin our promised journey. I am sorry that it has been much longer than I expected. Our people fight among themselves and further spoil our world with hatred and avarice. I know these are concepts you cannot understand but there is no way to express them in terms you would know. Hatred and avarice are unknown to dolfinas. You and your pod are our greatest hope. Are you and your pod well? Can you come with me now?”
Bathus twittered an eager yes. Her pod was doing well and lived far to the south in warm currents with lots of eating-creatures.
With that, two other man-creatures joined the storyteller; pod mates, he said. Together, they used a made-thing to lift her from the water and place her in a small tank filled with seawater within the flying boat’s belly. The loud thrumming resumed. She bounced around within her tank for a few moments, accompanied by a disconcerting pull against her body. Then the thrumming subsided and the ride became smooth. They traveled for many day-parts, the storyteller often stroking her side to soothe her but she felt only joy because they were together once again.
After a while, the thrumming subsided further and she felt as if she was falling. The storyteller, touching her flipper, told her they had arrived and would be back on the water shortly.
The flying boat came to a rest with a great roar and many bumps. The storyteller and his pod mates then used the made-thing to lower her gently into the water. She immediately felt that this was a different kind of water than her seas and it was bounded by land on all sides and filled with eating-creatures that she did not know. But she trusted the storyteller. She would come to no harm.
The storyteller swam with her over to a long platform floating against the land. It contained many interesting things, some she recognized, many others she did not know. The storyteller pulled himself out of the water and sat on the edge of the platform, his feet swishing in the water. He told her how good it was to see her again, that he had thought of her often and hoped she was well. He told her that there were many good things to eat in the small-water and that she should feed and rest until the next day-cycle. They had much to discuss.
Bathus learned many incredible things about the man-creatures over the following day-cycles.
She almost learned to grasp the concepts of pride, greed, and lust which afflicted so many of the man-creatures—a horrendous illness that swept through their populations swelling egos and thickening hearts and minds.
She learned of great battles where huge pods, bloated with their numbers from unrestrained growth, fought each other over squandered resources, trying to kill as many of the others’ pod mates as possible and to destroy their man-caves and made-things, battles that further br
oke and poisoned the world.
She learned how the wastes generated from cultures of entitlement were thrown across the land and into the seas and skies in such quantities that they altered the very fabric of life and earth.
She learned of the ignorance, apathy, and stupidity of man-creatures who willfully wallowed in the politics of success preached by the elite, like pups stumbling into the toothy grins of great sharks. But it was always the fault of another man-creature, nation, or race; another evil god that created the filth from which they made their beds of denial.
Finally, she learned that the world had begun to crumble from the weight of humanity and their excesses. Plagues and disease swept through plants and animals, cities, homes, and the false havens of the elite. The skies grew turbulent and thick with darkness as the land rocked with upheavals and belches of fire and ash. And the seas shifted and rose, their salty waters washing through the man-creatures’ empires of excess as if the Earth attempted to cleanse herself of their pestilence.
Life, as they knew it, was dying.
Even this, the storyteller confessed with sorrow, had done little to alter the hierarchy of power or slow the scramble to fill desires that can never be satiated. Too many man-creatures still groped with jellied brains and bloody fingers for the gilded coffins they buried themselves within.
The storyteller paused at this, wiping the salty waters streaming from his eyes. His breath shuddered as he continued. We have, he told her, gone too far. Our society is doomed. All that lives within land, sea, and air suffers the consequences of our failures.
This story greatly disturbed Bathus. She spent her rest periods reflecting on the terrible costs that the man-creatures and even her own pod must suffer, especially since it was a path that man-creatures chose to inflict not only upon themselves but upon the entire world. What right do they have to do this? she wailed. And, perhaps for the first time in her life, she tasted the bitterness of anger.
Then the story turned. The storyteller spoke of hope, of a great cleansing of the cesspool that man-creatures made for themselves and inflicted upon the world, of new ways of thinking and a nucleus of wisdom that sprouted from the ruins of self-destruction. The storyteller lamented, even weeping at times, the depths of suffering man-creatures created before they realized that lasting peace and well-being could be easily found in compassion, love, and integrity. “There are some among us,” he told Bathus, “who have awakened to this path toward truth but our shouts for acts of love and reason are lost in the cacophony of ephemeral lusts and self-pleasuring. There is, nonetheless, hope for our children, for your children,” he had said, “for all life and for the earth that we call home.”
He then asked Bathus if she remembered the made-plants and made-eating-creatures he had shown her earlier. Bathus said, “Of course. I have thought often on these things.”
Then he told her something she had long suspected: “You and your pod, Bathus, are also partly made-things in that many many sun-cycles past we brought the best and brightest dolfinas together into one pod and helped your children learn to evolve their wisdom and grow together with our children.”
“You, too, are a made-thing,” Bathus said after a moment of thought.
“We are in that this is what we have chosen.”
Rather than shock, Bathus felt a calmness sweep through her. “This explains much,” she told him. She knew her pod was different, that her pod mates seemed more self-aware and knowledgeable than any other pod she had encountered. This was not a thing to fear but a thing to rejoice. “You have given us a gift to cherish,” she told him.
Reassured, the storyteller proceeded to tell her of the hope he and his fellow seekers held for the future; of how, together, they could help man-creatures emerge stronger and wiser from the poisons of their destruction. “But they will need our help to build a society free of the deceits that plunged our world into chaos. You and I must sow the seeds of that help.”
Bathus reflected deeply on these things for several day-cycles. The storyteller and his pod mates spent many day-parts playing with her in the warm waters of the small-water. And, late in a day-cycle, he would sit on the platform and tell her stories about kindness, courage, and reason. “There is great goodness within man-creatures,” he said, “a goodness worth preserving. There is, however, a long-cycle of death and suffering coming, a purging of the ugliness that we created for ourselves. It is inevitable. Beyond that period there will be a rebirth. These reborn man-creatures will be weak in body and mind. They will not have the wisdom, traditions, and pod-memories of dolfinas; they will have only the deep sense of tragedy and grief from the horrendous failures of their ancestors. Befriend those who choose to listen, share your wisdom with them, teach them beauty and goodness. Your people have existed far longer than man-creatures and in your maturity have learned truths that, in our relative youth, we have yet to master.
“There’s one further task I must ask of you. Unhappily, I can only offer it as a burden,” he confessed, “a burden that your pod must carry into the distant future. We ask that only your pod, the Bathus Pod, preserve the knowledge that I will share with you next, for it is knowledge of a great man-treasure that can be used for great good. Your pod must preserve these mysteries until the time of need.”
“What must we do?” Bathus asked him.
The storyteller withdrew a cylindrical object from a pouch on his body-wrappings and placed it on a small platform just beneath the surface of the water. “Examine this well with your sound-sight,” he told her. “And remember it well, for it contains a message of hope.” The storyteller then opened a covered container on the platform and withdrew a heavy box that he lowered into the water before her. “The cylinder will be locked into this box,” he told her. “Etched upon it are the symbols of life, value, and change. You must learn to press these symbols in the correct order to open the box. I will teach you the way. We will attach the box to the bottom of this small-water.” Next, he stood and began to walk along the shore, beckoning her to follow. Soon, they came to a gate. He opened it. She followed him through a narrow channel into another, smaller water that was about two body-spans deep. There were no eating-creatures here, she immediately noted. And the bottom of the small-water was a made-thing, with many complex bumps and spaces. The storyteller slipped into the water. “Examine well the bottom of this small-water, for it is a map, a made-thing that depicts in miniature the great expanse of the seas and lands. With this you will learn of the shapes and paths of the terrain surrounding us. It will help guide you in your travels.” He showed her where the made-reef was, the cave-clusters they had visited, and many other places she knew. Then he took her several spans away from those places and showed her an unfamiliar place. “This,” he told her, “is where we are now. You see the bigger small-water and the smaller small-water. Between the two is a spire, a made-thing many spans high.” She knew this spire. She had seen it many times since she had arrived. The map suddenly became clear to her, and she marveled at this new wonder.
“Remember this map well,” he told her, “for it will be your pod’s only guide for many generations until the seas cover these hills. And remember this spire well, for it marks this place. Also, note the disks arranged evenly down from the top. We will attach the box I showed you earlier beneath this spire.” He then told her to study the map and the spire, to learn every detail. “When you are ready, come to me again at the platform. It’s almost time to return you to your pod.”
Several day-parts later, Bathus returned to the platform. There, the storyteller told her about the future. He said the lands would continue to shift and the seas would rise for many long-counts. He said much of the dry-land Bathus saw on the map would be covered by water. Pointing at the hills and ridges around him he said that all these would be islands and that the small-waters would become part of the seas.
“A great many long-count generations of your pod will pass before the land and seas stabilize.
“This, t
hen, is what you must do.
“First, protect yourselves. These are perilous times and they will persist for many generations. The Bathus Pod must survive, must prosper. Seek out the distant-waters when times threaten. Caution must rule your lives.
“Second, preserve the knowledge of failure as well as the knowledge of hope that I have shared with you. These times of upheaval shall pass. Good and order will be reborn from the slush of humanity’s triumphs and follies. The land, sky, and sea will sing with newly freshened and vigorous symphonies of joy. Seek out man-creatures in these times of peace. Learn their ways and their people as you teach them your songs of cooperation and compassion. Designate a Watcher from each generation to counsel your pod on interactions. The Watcher must also travel to this spire once within her lifetime to refresh her memory of its location and to pass that memory to her successor.
“Third and finally,” the storyteller told Bathus, “the echoes of the future wail through our minds of a time yet to be when humankind stands poised on the threshold of final failure—a failure from which we cannot recover. Once again a miasma will reach across the earth, fueled by the thick, sweet blood of greed and the dark deceits of lust and power that smolder in the rubble of the past. Man-creatures will shove aside the ingrained lessons of horror in a frenzy of ignorance and egoism bent once again on inundating the earth with their excrement. The earth shall cry out her agony, her message of never again sharp and clear. This will be the time for the Watcher to open the box. She must pass the cylinder and its original location to a man-creature the pod knows and respects. Only then will your pod’s trust be fulfilled. The destiny of man-creatures is in your care until then.
“These, therefore, are your pod’s duties and its burdens. You are our best hope, and for this we are forever grateful.”
Chapter 3