The Storm of Beasts

Go beyond the shallow waters,

Go out into the deep

Discover there is more to you beyond what you’ve seen.

Those were the words of the elder as she perished on her deathbed, necklace in hand, one with many pearls. I gently pulled the necklace from her hands and, giving them a thorough study, decided I could decode the signs on the individual spheres later.

Thus, I set out to accomplish her dream, to apply her wise words, and venture out into what the sea might promise me. It was a simple mission: sail to an island with the landmark of a shell carved out of stone, meet the woman there, hand her the necklace, and sail back.

It was simple to find a boat. Many men sold boats along the coasts of Ocalute. I bargained for one, promising him I’d return it. He laughed me to scorn but let me take the boat anyway.

I had a basket of food that I bought from one woman at the market. A change of clothes, a few navigational tools; I was all set for the journey ahead. There was just one thing, one tiny detail I didn’t want to miss.

As I pushed my sailboat forward, hoisting the sail and preparing everything else, I looked back. Back to the town of emerald and sapphire. Back to the noise of the markets, the rhythm of the schoolchildren, the tang of gossip, and the sweet scent of childbirth. I realized in that moment I didn’t want to leave Ocalute.

This town that I’ve hated since I was 10 now felt like my entire life. It was as if I was leaving myself.

I shook my head. “Old memories,” I muttered as I pushed my boat toward the vastness of blue ahead of me, one that sparkled a bit with the tiny fleck of light coming from the sun. I wrapped the necklace around my neck and cast my gaze toward the beauty ahead of me.

If I had been paying attention, I would have left tomorrow.

Not long after I set sail, the blue of the ocean turned a murky green. The blissful wisps of wind that played with my hair earlier now tugged at my face as if they wanted to rip it clean off. Other winds schemed with the waves and decided to tease my boat. So I was pushed to and fro, grabbing my face for dear life and attempting to steady myself against this violent practice. It did me no good.

Soon, the drum of thunder rattled my body, followed by dozens upon dozens of dark clouds relieving themselves, as my sister would say. This “relief” burned my eyes, and I instinctively tried to hide behind the sail for comfort. It did me no good.

The sail apparently couldn’t take this anymore and tore itself from its post, flying away like a coward. “What am I supposed to do now!” I shouted at the white fabric quickly shrinking in size as it disappeared into gray. Soon after, the boat decided to quit too, and it let the waves turn it upside down, dunking me into the ice of the ocean.

The shock turned everything dark for a second, then I opened my eyes, struggling against the aching of my joints and flailing my arms in an orderly fashion. My head popped above the waves, and I was tossed and turned like a toy—a toy looking for any sort of stability.

One of my baskets was nearby, and I clung to it for safety. That also did me no good. It was too small, and it sank as fast as another wave slammed into my back. Turned over again, I flailed for the top and was pushed around by the water. I stopped flailing and started swimming, and I was pushed around harder. It was as if this was a game, and I decided to play it.

I foolishly thought I, one man, could win a game against the beast that was the ocean, who had multiple hands. One hand nearly threw me toward a rock, while another, somehow seeing my gasp for air, pulled me back down. Two more hands pushed me back up for the sake of it, and another dragged me back under.

After a while, up and down became meaningless. So did left and right. Every place was every place. Water flooded my ears and ran up my nose. I sputtered, coughing salt and choking on gulps of water and air. My arms burned red, my legs turned to stone, and I was powering off my sheer desire to live.

At that moment, my body decided to quit. I could barely register what was pulling and who was pushing. I just knew I wanted to find something. I finally happened upon a sturdy jagged stone that rose mightily above the ocean—well, I was thrown into it. I coughed, tasting blood, and hugged the rock as if it was my mother.

That’s the last thing I could remember before I felt a cold hand on my torso again…

. . . . . . . . . .

The children eyed me in suspicion, awe, and worry as I wrapped up my tale. One blinked, turned her head, and said, “You survived the Storm of Beasts.”

Go figure.

“The Storm of Beasts happens twice every three months, and in a crew on a ship, half will survive; the other half will bear wounds of varying types,” someone explained.

I turned to her. It was my rescuer. She walked toward me and lightly touched the side of my head. I winced in pain, and she noticed.

“You’ll be fine,” she said, pushing her glasses up her beak. “You’ll just have to rest here for a while.”

“How long is a while?” another child blurted out.

“When he’s ready to return to the sea,” my rescuer replied.

She looked back at me and made a face, shaking her head. I smiled and shook back. Kids. They often ask questions they think they’ll know the answers to, then get surprised when they get a vague reply or none at all. Father told me getting no reply is worse than a vague one because when a child is left to come to their own conclusions, it will either be very wrong, very funny, or very believable.

I stroked my rescuer’s shell, amazed by the patterns—the wear and tear of it. I traced some of the grooves—er—the scars that lined it. Each had its own story to tell. One scar I traced over, she mused, had to do with me.

My parents told me that as a baby, they took me on a fishing trip with them. We were to see my aunt in Otalate, Ocalute’s neighboring village that sat some distance away. We were enjoying the trip when a storm brewed across our viewpoint. We immediately started to sail back, but the strong winds made my mother stumble, and she dropped me into the sea. My father dove in after me, but the murky waters kept him from being able to find me. He grabbed a massive stone and thought it was me. When he swam up to show my mother, he realized his error and dove in again.

The ocean tormented him as it had me, and he kept popping up empty-handed. My mother was convinced I had died when something else stirred beneath the waves. They saw me first, barely conscious. My father scooped me up and swam me back to the ship. When she saw me, my mother snatched me and held me tight, hoping to keep me warm. What they saw second was what rescued me. My father screamed. My aunt grabbed her spear and dove in after the creature. As fast as she swam was as quick her motion—slicing the creature’s shell first, then aiming for her eyes. My mother screamed next, demanding she stop.

Now in Otalate, it is tradition for the women to kill these things, so when my aunt heard my mother command her to stop and not my father, it threw her back a bit. My mother explained that my life was just saved, and if this thing really meant any harm, it would have eaten me. She told my aunt she would not let her kill my rescuer. She’d rather die first.

That really set my aunt back, and she swam back toward the now broken ship. My mother waved to my rescuer, blowing kisses and thanking her.

And now, according to her, history has repeated itself—only I was the one commanding the ship.

. . . . . . . . .

Where I was, I did not know. All I knew was that we were moving, and I stuck out like a sore thumb amongst all these children—ones who wore clothes of greens, purples, golds, and blues. Outfits that I had no idea were scarves just thrown and wrapped fancily. With the added shells, pearls, and beads adorning the sashes and skirts, tops, and dresses, you would think these came from a royal court. But no. These were their school uniforms.

Some of the girls offered to make me one. I refused at first but, recalling their kindness, decided to let them play with me. When they were done dressing me, one picked up a shard of glass so I could see a bit of my reflection. All I knew was that my long, curl-like hair was braided, and I was wearing some sort of emerald (or purple) sash over my now exposed chest.

When wherever we were on stopped moving, a girl grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the entrance. When we got there, I was hit by a pungent scent—one that felt raw, clean, and unpleasant. It smelled like… fish. Then the entrance opened, and I beheld rows and rows of teeth. It was a fish. I had been riding in a fish somehow.

I stepped out of the fish and stared. I had to have been dreaming. A village of coral, gold, and pearls awaited me. Was this… heaven? I walked up to one of the walls to touch it. I felt at least 14 dozen little voices scream, “NOOOOOOO!”

“No one touches the walls,” one boy said.

“You could hurt them,” another one chimed in.

I looked back at the walls, and a pair of eyes stared me down. Yup, these walls were very much alive.

I took in the scene. We were in some sort of shallow cave. Rocks that shimmered with hidden gems surrounded us in a circle, but you wouldn’t see them. The focus was what was before me: a rusted gate that had flecks of gold within, barring the entrance to a magnificent village-like city. Two guards stood before the city, nodding to the children as they entered but glaring warily at me.

“He is with Ocalute,” my rescuer told them.

They nodded and let me in.

Now inside, I noted that everything was made of coral—the interconnected houses stacked on top of each other, the two-story shops, a school in the back, a library (apparently). All made of coral, pearls, and wooden pieces from sunken ships. I could feel the influence of the ship everywhere I stepped, from the rustic scent of freshly chopped wood to the pungent scent of moldy wood. Doubloons and gemstones lined some of the streets; diamonds lined one consistent path, which my rescuer had me take.

The people seemed like a mix of man and fish. They had small faces with widened eyes and elf-like ears that flared out from both sides of their heads. They dressed similarly to the schoolchildren, only their outfits didn’t have as many gemstones adorning them. One man stared at me like I owed him money. Two children pointed to me, and a woman whispered something into their elongated ears. Most eyed me as if I was some strange creature, while my rescuer made clicking sounds with her beak as if to say, “Ignore them.”

The diamond path led to the building in the center—not the tallest building, but I knew from its structure it was the most important. My rescuer took the lead, waddling to meet the others like her. Four of them sat in chairs, looking as if they expected her. She told them what she had told the guards, and they suddenly leaned forward with interest. She looked back to me. I sat on my knees and watched the four waddle up to me and observe me. One touched my braid. The other studied the bandage wrapped around my head.

One looked me in the eye and spoke to me, his voice deep and clear. “O’Tawa says she found you sinking into the sea,” he began. “How do you feel?”

“A little dizzy,” I replied softly, “but better.”

“Do you have the necklace?” he continued.

The necklace. Oh no. I must’ve lost it when I got shipwrecked. I felt my insides panicking, and I calmed them instantly.

“No, sir,” I admitted quietly, voice full of shame.

“Ah,” he sighed, “well, you must retrieve that necklace. Your elder promised it to us, and, seeing you now understand the stories she’s told for years, you know the importance of having it.”

“I don’t understand all the stories,” I replied.

The four looked at each other, then back to O’Tawa.

“He has no context as to what’s going on,” she explained, in a voice that clearly asked not to be found at fault.

The four turned back to me.

“Nevertheless,” a different one resumed, “you need to find that necklace. We will send aid to help you. We have been training our own for this, but you must be willing to take part in what they do.”

“I understand,” I replied softly.

“They may take actions that mess with you,” she continued. “They may not strike when you expect them to, and vice versa. They may frustrate you, second-guess you, or even rely on you when the situation seems applicable for another.”

“No matter the case, you must swear to stay by them, no matter how dangerous or frustrating it gets,” another one included.

“I bow my head in reverence,” I muttered.

“And we respect it,” one replied.

So it was true. All of it. The legends told grandly in the center square and whispered among restless children. These tales dismissed by some as madness, accepted as tradition, and few believed were real. Everything relating to the Ka’uhno—their kingdoms, their councils; they were all true.

My grandmother wasn’t crazy. My brother would never let me hear the end of it.

But then that means if there are Heilo Ka’uhno, are there Poino Ka’uhno too? There is a balance to the world—right with wrong, selfish and selfless, guilty and loyal—and like with every balance, there’s an infinite amount of gray in the middle.

Is that why she entrusted me with the necklace?

Is that why she called me into the room while the rest of the family wept outside the door?

Is that why she put her finger to my lips and told me the words I was about to hear were for my ears only?

Right now, all I could hear were her dying sister’s words in my head,

Go beyond the shallow waters,

Go out into the deep

Discover there is more to you beyond what you’ve seen.

Beyond what I have seen.

There is more beyond what I have seen.

And if this is the journey I must take to discover what Beyond is, or what it entails, then so be it.