A Fish out of Water

This time of year, the flying fish were migrating down the coast. In a way, they made the shark wardens’ jobs easier, because the presence of sharks sent them soaring out of and above the water, their direction marking the beast’s trajectory. Then it was easy for the wardens to find their mark.

This time of year, the eastern wind dragged the angry sea down the coast of the southern peninsula, along various towns, cities, ports, and harbors. Among them, the humble city of Maristela. Once the capital of a wealthy tributary to the Denza empire, now the occupation of a single lord and his native council. It consisted of pearl fishers, and a legend which was beginning to bring them more attention than they had ever asked for.

But the waters were still, the waves drifted like a palm leaf in the wind, and the sun rose high into the late morning sky. Lulu felt the sun beat down on her back and shoulders, but her dark skin seemed to deflect the rays like a shield. An ability her best friend, Rosaura, often envied. Her freckled, rosy cheeks were prone to burning and her blonde curls seemed to soak in the sun right down to the scalp. This time of year, Lulu could only find her in the shade, desperately waving a frond in her face.

And the waters were raging, pouring down rain on the stilted cabins in the marsh, their wood frames swaying atop their salt-crusted stone pillars. Further inland, the rain continued to pelt even the city center, which perched in a corner between the sea cliffs, the marsh, and the riverbed; an even number of miles from each, inching northwest, as if backing away from the coast. In Lord Garsea’s manor, Lulu huddled close to her friend, sitting in front of the hearth and popping stuffed olives into her mouth.

One by one, divers emerged, puffing and swiping their hands over their salt-burned eyes. They grabbed the sides of the boat and hurled their netted baskets into it. For a few minutes, they tread the water and caught their breaths, before diving again. Lulu watched again, as they became blurred shapes the further down they went.

One by one, the olives disappeared from the bowl and the conversation drifted from mild commentary on the weather, concern for the pearlers and the fishermen, to wondering at the state of Rosaura’s twin brother, Ruy.

“I wonder if he is getting this storm, wherever he is,” Rosaura said with a sigh, licking her fingers.

“I am sure he is far enough away. He may be experiencing a different storm entirely,” Lulu mused, leaning back on her cushion.

Rosaura twirled a bouncy strand of hair around her finger and tugged it. Worry lines began to crease her face, and she let out a stifled laugh. “It’s stupid, but sometimes I imagine the villagers finding a broken ship washed ashore, and my father going and finding Ruy washed up there...maybe even with the gifts he meant to bring us, scattered around him.”

Lulu blinked, and sat up on her elbows. “I think you read too many tragedies.”

Those in the boat got to work, using their dull knives to pry open the clams, then swiftly but delicately palpating for the fruits of their labor: the hard, milky beads of solidified ocean silt. Lulu sat with her legs crossed and fished for a few clams out of a net, drawing the knife tucked into her over-skirt pocket. She used it to pry each one open. First one, nothing. Second one, nothing. Third one, a teardrop shaped, pinkish pearl. Lulu let it drop into her palm, flexing her hand and watching the pearl roll around, the sun catching on its dull luster.

“Those in the crew are competent enough to get Ruy safely to shore, I’m sure of it. What Maristellan vessel hasn’t been built to face an autumn storm?” she soothed, running her hand gingerly over her friend’s head and pressing her cheek to hers. Rosaura sighed and leaned her shoulder against Lulu’s.

“I am sure you’re right.” A small, contented smile spread on her face, showing her dimples.

Shouts erupted. Thousands of tiny splashes sounded in the distance, echoing in their ears. The shark wardens stood alert, harpoons raised and poised to spear. Heads emerged from the water, gasping. The sounds of warning whistles reached them, and they slung their nets and baskets into the boat, barely taking turns pulling themselves over the side and into safety. The fish flew far in the distance, the wardens chased. Lulu helped pull people into the boat, fingers struggling to find a hold on their slippery arms. She counted heads and only relaxed when they were all accounted for. A single, tiny splash sounded behind her, and something wet slapped against the back of her calf.

Knocking erupted from the front entrance. The distance and the walls of the manor muffled the sound, but the knocks grew louder and more desperate as they remained unanswered. Lulu heard the shuffling and pattering feet of servants as they rushed down the hall, out of their rooms, no doubt rudely awakened from their late night dreaming. The two girls sat up, alert, and swiveling their heads towards the door of the room. Lulu was the first to act, rising from her cushion and going to peer into the hall. The knocking bounced off the walls, and rolled down the hall to meet her.

She turned to look over her shoulder, and saw a single fish, flipping itself violently, trying to right itself. It gasped, and its beady eyes seemed to bulge. Its fishy lips moved as if to form human pleas. With a sigh, she reached to scoop it up, but it protested, its tail swatting at her hands. When she finally managed to grab it by its writhing, slimy body, she admired it for a moment; its scales, its wing-like fins. She wondered what it would be like, to move through the water as easily as a stag moved through the forest, and then to soar above it. Then she hurled it into the sea.

She turned and rose to her feet, and flew down the hall. The words of her friend rose to her mind, like bile to her throat. They brought with them dark images, of splintered sea-soaked wood washed up onto the sand and rocks. They lit a fire under her feet and pushed her ahead of the congregation of worrying handmaids, until she burst into the front hall and her hands clasped around the cool metal handle of the door. A servant undid the simple lock next to her, and she pulled the heavy, wooden door open. Humid wind blew inside, bringing with it warm rain that splattered on her cheeks, and a ragged, green-cloaked stranger. He stumbled into the room, grabbing Lulu by the shoulder with one hand, and tugging his hood off with the other. His mouth gaped open, struggling to form words as he gasped for breath, dark hazel eyes bulging and shining with fear.

“I am Stefanos, and Ruy is in danger.”