"In Deep Kelp" by Ashley R. Wynn

In Deep Kelp

Atva rubbed sleep from his eyes as he stumbled outside. The sun was not yet up. Atva had no breakfast, but he was heading to the docks. It was time to join the rest of the small crew and ready the flat-bottomed, high-sterned craft for a hard day of work. He thought of Hellene, curled up, warm, and comfortable on their pallet. Atva wished for nothing more than to return home, wake her, and remain in bed all day.

Atva's thoughts about his new wife evaporated as Effin, another member of the crew, joined him in his trek down the beach.

"Ponteri had his dander up last night, yeah?" The skinny man leaned down to pick deep kelp away from a dead albatross. Disturbed ants boiled from the empty sockets.

"Had breakfast yet, Atva?" He tittered and stood, dropping the deep kelp. Eyeball-like pods were clumped here and there in the thick, sinuous masses of greenish-black kelp. Effin moved quickly to catch up with his companion. As nimble fingered as he was nimble footed, Effin was the most adept of the worthy crew at handling the lines and rigging. Many salty patrons of the fishing village's lone tavern, the Nymph's Pocket, considered him a fine seaman, though he had been born in a village much farther inland. Though rope was his family's trade, the moment Effin had seen the sparkling green waters during his first delivery to Portmouth; he knew he would spend much of the rest of his life at sea.

Atva yawned as he continued across the sand, trying to avoid stepping on any deep kelp the storm had brought in the night before. His guts squirmed thinking about the slimy bulbous pods bursting open beneath his toes.

The smell of the kelp was worse than the odor of Rackhir on a morning after a good haul. Atva, as the newest and youngest of the crew had to rouse Rackhir from his drunken stupor more than once so that they could leave the harbor with a full crew. This morning, however, Atva could see him already aboard, checking her nets. The crew of the fishing vessel Salacia had not brought in anything but deep kelp for a ten-day.

Though normally overly optimistic, Atva was beginning to worry. His share of the catch kept his new family fed and sheltered. Hellene dived for abalone and other shellfish like many fisher wives in Portmouth. Her pickings, too, had been small lately. As the men of the fishing village brought in less and less fish, the women gathered more shellfish until it, too, was becoming scarce. The first night Atva returned empty-handed, he and Hellene had begun eating less and drying more shellfish, fish, and whatever fruits and grains Hellene could get in trade.

"Protect us poor mortals from Ponteri's wicked dragons, oh wise and beautiful Mistress of the Seas!" Captain Zheng's prayer to the dragon-calming goddess Janphae rang across the salty harbor air.

"He's already started the prayer!" Effin moved faster down the boat-lined dock, his tough bare feet slapping the worn planks solidly. Few villagers appeared to be bothering to even waste day fishing. Atva trotted to keep up with Effin.

"Good to see you this morning, boys, better cast off them lines and see to the sails," called Hando, the fifth member of the crew and former owner of Salacia.

Atva and Effin hustled to the cleats.

"Get a move on, ye puling babes," snarled Rackhir, never looking up from his work on the nets. Rackhir had been out of liquor for three days.

The end line Effin had loosed crumbled in his hands. "Captain, these ropes are of inferior quality. We need new line, sir. I'm sure the rigging looks no better."

"Aye, and we'll be getting them too, Effin, as soon as we bring in today's haul." Zeng, the swarthy Captain of the sailing vessel Salacia, took the rudder in hand. "I'll let you personally handle it when we reach port this evening." He bared his teeth in a wide smile and put his reddened face into the wind.

The sun finally began to peek over the edge of the sea as the pillbox red ship with saffron sails lost sight of land.

* * *

Silverblade scowled as he maneuvered through the thick, entangling kelp. It seemed to grasp at his wrists and tug at his trident. The deeps were dark, and the sun did not penetrate here as it did in the crystalline coral reefs far above. Here it was so dark that Silverblade's delicate shell-like ears and his chemical-sensitive scent/taste membranes had to serve as his eyes. He could hear the vibrations of the swaying forest of wide fronds, and the occasional rustle of some pressurized survivor scuttling for safety. He could taste the oily rankness of the podding deep kelp.

When the deep kelp podded it was commonly considered an ill omen. It had been that way since the ancient times before the first mermen began to chisel their lives into stone. The ancient stories were passed down from generation to generation of sirens through thousands of years of verbal history. When the deep kelp pods every few hundred years, the fomorii begin to raid, attempting to take over the deeps as well as the unbreathable heavens where men walk.

Silverblade was scouting an area where there had once been an ancient temple complex. Mermen had not built it. Nor had they ever inhabited the sun-deprived halls. There were living quarters for hundreds, easily. He had heard, as a tadpole and still in school, that it had once been a drylander place, high up in the unbreathable clouds of heaven. Ancient gods had warred with the elements themselves. The temples of the defeated gods had been swallowed by earth, water, and fire.

The merman retched and tightened his grip on his trident. He had just inhaled something terribly rancid. Fomorii. Somewhere nearby in this blinding kelp! He continued forwards, toward where he thought the temple should be. The rotting, stinking taste was so oily it clung inside his nostrils and throat like wet silk. It seemed to be most noxious where the pods where thickest. Silverblade began to retch uncontrollably and was suddenly slammed into an unseen rock shelf. Silt and tiny stones spilled over his shoulders. His firm grip on the trident was the only thing that had saved him from the ambush of the fomorii's toothy maw.

The spiny finned creature had impaled itself in its eagerness to bite and tear at the merman. It pulled itself forward on the trident, sliding down the shaft as thick blood from the massive wound oozed into the water and dissipated into the darkness of the kelp. Snapping and slashing at Silverblade, the creature thrashed its powerful tail fin and wrenched the trident around, tearing the fatal wound further and catching one of the three hooks on a thick bony back plate. Silverblade did not let go, though he had not been more frightened, ever. He was trapped against the stone, and he could not push away the fighting but dying creature. He could only twist and dodge the monster's attacks and try to hold it at bay with the bone-lodged trident.

All at once the fomorii stopped thrashing on the trident and began to float away. The kelp held the creature in its grasp. Silverblade pushed the trident deeper into the kelp away from him. He became very still, and listened. His heart was pounding and he felt the hot, clear feeling that battle lent him. He sensed nothing else hiding in the kelp. He could hear the dead fomorii rustling against the broad leaves and bulbous pods. He could hear the grate of metal on bone, as his lodged trident swayed counter to the fresh carrion.

Before it could disappear into the kelp and the scavengers claimed it, Silverblade had to examine it thoroughly. The creature had no weapons other than his long teeth, thick, sharp claws, and spiny fins. It had a tail as well as small stout legs with webbed toes and claws as gnarly as the ones on its equally webbed hands. The creature's head lolled back on its shoulders, agape, and appeared facially to be all mouth and tooth, with hooded, bony-ridged eyes on either side of its slanted, fishy head. It wore no clothes over its scarred, shark-like skin. The fomorii had only a strange metal amulet, a triangle with a few crudely carved squiggly lines on a thong of sinew. Simply knotted, brutishly smithed. Silverblade snapped the thong and tied it securely in his hair, out of sight.

Pausing again to listen to the world around him and to get his bearings, Silverblade realized how disoriented he had become. He was not sure which way the temple complex was. His struggle with the fomorii had been sudden. He could not sense anything farther than an arm length away. He couldn't even find the wall of stone that he had been slammed into. Offering a silent, but whole-hearted prayer to Ponteri, Silverblade chose a direction and carefully started away. Other fomorii were likely nearby and he no longer had a weapon.

* * *

After the three great saffron sails were furled, Salacia began to fly across the surface of the green sea like a great tropical bird made of wood, canvas, and rope. The captain signaled to his crew to leave the nets and climb up to the stern where he steered the ship.

"It has been more than a ten-day since our fine crew has brought in anything but demon kelp. We are not the only fishermen of Portmouth to suffer this way. We caught fish many weeks after lesser crews with more poorly crafted ships caught nothing. Even the Magistrate's fine ship, Bethelle, sits in port today!

"Ponteri's storm dragons rage each night, bringing the demon kelp up from the dark deeps. Day after day, drek is all our nets produce. And still I beseech Janphae to have mercy on us mere mortals." Captain Zheng's knuckles were white as he gripped the huge rudder and addressed his men.

"We must do something." His solid, desperate stare met each crewman in turn. "Each of us needs a haul equally. We are all in dire straights. Some of us with small mouths to feed." He gestured at Effin who had two boys. Captain Zeng had a house full of children and their various mothers.

Atva glanced from the Captain's face to Rackhir's dark-circled eyes. His skin looked yellow, like he needed more sun. And some of us have holes to fill with liquor, Atva mused. Wind stirred Effin's straight black hair. His teenaged sons looked just like him. Hando picked at his nails with his favorite filleting knife. He had a daughter that he often referred to as "useless".

"Late last evening, after a long time of prayer to Janphae, I was given a sign and then a vision.

"The fish have been chased away by Ponteri's wicked dragons. Janphae is trying to dampen Ponteri's anger with us poor mortals, whatever it is that we have done. The fish cannot be caught without supernatural help. We must put our backs and nets to other uses if we wish to survive. Our entire village is at risk.

"The shadow reef claims merchant ships year-round. I can only imagine the tragedies that have occurred there this season. Today we will sail there and explore. We will see if there is anything at all salvageable."

"But, Captain, those are deadly waters!" Hando protested, though he was well aware of the ship's exceptional maneuverability. "Salacia could be washed up and smashed to tinder!"

"Aye, Hando, they are very deadly waters. The dark reefs can rip the ship right out from under us. The sharks there can eat us. Ponteri's stormbringers themselves could swallow us whole." Captain Zeng glared down at the man who had previously owned Salacia. Then looked hard at every member of his crew. "But I can promise we will find something other than this demon-cursed kelp, if not a lockbox full of gold, then we will at least have a net full of shellfish our wives haven't gotten to yet."

*     *     *

(Part 2 in progress. . .)