Moonlight Voyage

Moonlight reflected off the island’s sea, the silver glow floating on the surface of the clear water, and Zalle turned as another guest approached him.

This one walked alone, carrying a drawing pad in one hand and a charcoal stick in the other. She adjusted her small black hat—a foreigner’s hat that rested off the side of her head—and approached slowly, as if frightened. Zalle smiled to the girl and raised his hand.

“So late, friend?” he asked, “I was about to end day.” He moved to untie the ganoe’s knot from the hitching post. It had been a busy day with travelers, many coming to the small island of Takuhoma now that the weather cleared, and requesting a showing, yet after decades of pushing the boat around the island’s sea with passengers in tow, his arms never grew tired.

“Oh,” she said, reaching into her pocket, “I can pay you more. I have enough silver.”

Zalle laughed, “no, friend, we never take money here on island. Never for guests. Come, sit, you will be last guest until sun rise.” The ganoe, a small boat designed for three at most, swayed as Zalle stood on its small podium. He picked up his paddle and laid his fingers into the creases carved in the ancient wood, then breathed in the scent of the ocean. Not as clean as it used to be, a shame, but the smell of the rich salt water and seaweed still refreshed him to this day. Even ages from now, he thought, he could still take in the scent of the sea and find the strength to paddle again.

“I thank you,” the girl whispered, “I find the night more interesting, that’s all.”

“Moonlight makes for great voyage.”

He set the paddle into the water and deep into the sand, feeling the slow push of the waves, and the light winds on his fingers. Calm weather perfect for a trip. The girl, straddling the drawing pad to her chest like a woman with her newborn, mounted the boat and nearly tripped over her own feet before sitting down across from him. The boat swayed as he pushed them off the sand.

Zalle smiled at the strange girl. Little to none of the passengers he guided over the years had ever brought along a drawing pad. Fish and dolphins could jump out near them, and, well, the water would splash right through the pages and waste the charcoal.

“Your name, friend?” he asked.

“Naomi. I’m from Middknight. You are?”

Ah, Middknight. He wouldn’t have guessed it from her. Very proud people with simple names. They would pay him even when he insistently declined, and bring up the glory of their kingdom at the mention of the name. More travelers than any other reigned from Middknight, riding on grand ships far different from the ones of his people.

“Zalle’athun’okohoma’amanzi,” he said, pushing the paddle through the shallow waters. The island and its tall, oval leafed trees became more and more distant with each push. The totem fires in the village became small blurs as the water swished below him, and Naomi looked to him with curious eyes.

“Wow, that’s a long name. No one really calls you by that, right? And if you had to sign it, would it not take up too much space? I think even my name does that.”

Zalle laughed. “That is only first name. Nobody calls such except my birth mother. You can name me Zalle. What brings you to Takuhoma, artist?” The paddle’s rhythm complimented the slow, quiet waves. Music to his ears. “What is you draw?”

Naomi sighed, looking down into the water. Another strange quality of the traveler. Most men and women looked off into the distance, contemplating or daydreaming, not usually into the water. Zalle found that ever since the jellyfish population had surged, many preferred the horizon.

“I’m not…an artist. Well, I wish to sell art-” she stopped and looked up at him as the ganoe began to turn. “Can we go further out? If you could? I have silver if, oh, never mind, I forgot you don’t take silver. Could we still?”

“As you wish, friend.” 

Zalle pushed the paddle against the rising current, no longer able to feel the sand at the base of the waters. Not many requested to go further out—many were content with a trip around the whole island, slowing down at the ancient totem poles of his ancestors or reaching out to smell the flowers, but he could never deny a guest. The ganoe swayed on the moonlit sea and sailed into deeper waters.

“You draw people, artist? Or nature itself?”

“Oh no, anyone can do that,” she still held the drawing pad tight against her chest, “that doesn’t really appeal to me. That’s all the galleries really do, forests or people of royalty, nothing I find that interesting. Anyone can draw the king or the plains. Can we go further out, by chance, Zalle?”

He smiled at her accent—always something different with those from Middknight—as she pronounced his name Za-aal instead of Zal-lee. “Of course, artist.” She nodded in thanks, her grin worth the trip itself.

“Do jellyfish catch your eye?” he asked. He looked over the boat to translucent silver jellyfish crowding the water, idling about without a care. Too many these days. Not good for the ocean.

“You could say that. These ones…are not very impressive. Another thing anyone could draw. Could we go further, please?” He would already have to squint to make out the shapes of the trees and shacks of his island. Naomi tapped her fingers on her drawing pad, “just a bit further out, if you could.”

“Oh,” Zalle said. The jellyfish, the drawing, how had he not come to it sooner? “You wish to see Harutima!” he laughed, “Giant King, in your tongue. Is dangerous, traveler, they ignore us but don’t like boats.”

“Yes, but they glow at night, don’t they? We would see one from an arrow-flights away.”

An arrow-flights away. Another odd saying of Middknight’s people. Zalle couldn’t help but smile as he pushed the boat against the waves, further and further from his home. The moon loomed overhead, bright like a giant pearl from the island’s clams—the many gods had blessed with light for tonight’s voyage. Naomi’s eyes reflected the silver glow as she watched the waters.

“You’ve done learning, artist. Do you know why Harumtima glows?”

“Prey. They eat at night,” her fingers tapped rapidly against the pad, “the colors, vibrant in the dark, attract smaller fish. That’s why they’re considered one of the world’s four leviathans—they grow so big because of this! The fish don’t understand they’re being lured into a trap. It is like they’re hypnotized. I tried drawing one of the heir-ru-teema that washed ashore, but it looked so pale and colorless,” Zalle nodded to her and Naomi’s smile widened, “that’s why I have to see them as close as I can as they live. I wouldn’t get a good chance at drawing one otherwise. Can we?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Zalle said, “but we shall keep distance from king. Is this why you come to Takuhoma, artist?”

“Yes,” Naomi said, “I’ve already sketched the Boulder Roa’s in Eastern Middknight, and I can’t do the sand worms in the desert right now with the war, so I thought I would work for the silver to sail out here. Your people are very kind, you know? I didn’t have to pay a single coin for a place to stay or a meal to eat. I have so much silver left over.”

“Is wonderful that you come to my home.”

The artist began to hum, content, eyes watching the water as Zalle pushed the small boat further out. His island became a mere shape. It had been the furthest he sailed in many years, the last being of two drunk men from the deserts arguing over if the Harutima existed or not. Back then it had been a rare sight. Now it rightfully deemed the name Haru—king—as it ruled over all ocean life around the Takuhoma. Zalle stopped paddling and gently turned. Any further out and tides would take over.

After a minute of coasting around, Naomi’s eyes lit up, and the boat swayed beneath her as she stood, calling out, “there!” her voice clear over the soft waves. “There! Do you see it, Zalle? Get closer!” She raised her drawing pad and readied her charcoal.

“Careful, friend. One step wrong and you fall.”

“I’ll be careful, promise, just, oh, I’ve waited and worked so long to see this! Look at its bell, it glows purple!”

Zalle pushed the ganoe closer. He would have to be right over the Harutima to anger it, but with a guest in tow, it was not a risk he wanted to take. He stopped the ganoe and looked over to the leviathan, not as big as the ones that lived in the depths far below, but still bigger than his boat many times over. A rival to the blue whale for the water’s greatest creature. Naomi scratched away rapidly at her drawing pad.

“If I only had my colors!” she said, periodically looking up.

The surface above the Harutima glowed a bright violet, slowly becoming a dark red, then a light orange, the colors tinting the water above its shape. Thousands of claret white tentacles swam out behind the creature, rippling with each wave, its bell surging with water, undulating down its leathery skin and causing a splash every time it propelled itself forward. Naomi whispered about the bell being a hundred times the size of a merchant’s boat and Zalle laughed. 

“Careful, friend,” he said as Naomi approached the very edge of the boat. The Harutima rested only a few pushes away—the closest he had been in his decades. He held his paddle at its length to catch the artist if she were to fall. The faint colors from the jellyfish glowed on her skin as she leaned forward.

“It’s massive,” she said, “I…wow. Look at it glow! Its veins are changing colors, merchant!”

Merchant? He thought she must have meant somebody else. It was not uncommon for those he brought along to speak with spirits not with them. The artist’s hand quickly moved from one side of her drawing pad to the other, stopping at times to focus on small details. Zalle held the boat in place as long as he could before the Harutima moved out into stronger waters.

“Can we follow it?” Naomi asked, her eyes alight with joy.

“Sorry to deny, friend, but waves too strong for my boat.”

“Drat,” she moved to sit, watching the colors fade off in the distance. “I thank you kindly nonetheless.”

“Did you finish drawing?”

“I did,” she showed it to him. A detailed rendition of the jellyfish, capturing its magnificent size and branch like veins running down its bell. The tentacles tailing behind looked remarkably impressive for the time given—the dozens of appendages took up different heights of the paper.

“This is only the first,” she said, “a reference of sorts. I have colors back with my things, and then I can really get into detail. It helps that these kind of things I remember more clearly than others,” she held the drawing pad close to her chest once more. “I’ll give you a page of the drawing from my sketchbook when it’s finished since you won’t take my silver. I promise.”

Zalle smiled to her, slowly pushing the boat back towards the island. Gifts of such creativity and thought were the ones he lived for, not the currency that his people avoided. He said he would accept a page, and listened to the artist hum as they made for shore along the moonlit sea.