CHAPTER NINETEEN

During these many tides, I came to know well the sandwalker

called Sharing.

Tracking the tides themselves became a monstrous problem,

for these sterile waters where we were sealed in the stone ponds did

not move at all. The waters were perfectly still, unaffected by the

nights of the silverside or of starlight bright. I soon was taught to

count and think in other strange ways. Sandwalkers had five little

fins on each of two upper fins so all their counting was based on

the unit ten. Time was not measured in tides but rather by the cycle

of the golden light. Each day represented approximately two tides.

I continued to count in tides out of stubborn pride rather than the

new daylight cycle system of the sandwalker.

Sharing came daily to the stone pool just after the early

throwing of the dead fish. She stayed in the pool with me for nearly

half of every tide while the other dolphins and the whale translated,

and I learned the gentle nuances of her speech; the way her fins

waved and formed word pictures.

Her face was more expressive than I could have imagined.

Occasionally, she stretched her mouth in an odd grimace, showing

her teeth. The first time, I thought she was preparing to attack,

for it was not unlike the sharp-fin as he prepares to swallow some-

thing whole. But her mouth was small, and her teeth were blunt and

looked ineffective for doing more than grinding stones. The gri-

mace was usually accompanied by odd snorts and coughs. I ques-

tioned her once about it, and she said it was the way the sandwalker

showed joy. Seems appropriate. It is the same way the sharp-fin

shows joy – when preparing to devour something.

Through talks with Sharing, the sandwalkers became an

even greater mystery than they had been before. Word by word,

I learned of them and their odd ways. Sharing explained that she

wished to know more of the Song of the Sea and how it was sung

and recorded. Dreamer knew of the song but was not a Scribe and

only knew bits and pieces. I, on the other hand, had swum with

Harmony and remembered all of the Song.

Still cautious, I was selective in what I told her. Often the

whale or my fellow dolphin questioned my failure to give her com-

plete answers. I had seen many evils performed in my travels

throughout the seas, for the most part by the sandwalker. Although I

came to have a strong friendship with Sharing, I continued to be coy.

Sandwalkers didn’t migrate or wander free, but rather lived

their lives in tiny caves that they had built by rearranging the nat-

ural order of things. They had even constructed the stone ponds

in which we swam. I learned that the shell-shark was not a natural

phenomenon of the dryside but rather was constructed, too. Their

need to rearrange nature seems to be a critical element that sepa-

rates the singers and the sandwalkers philosophically that and their

need to collect. At one point Sharing told me she was adding my

brief answers to her personal song, a collection of which she called

notes. They all seemed to be obsessed with gathering things.

Things were everything. Sandwalkers had many different woven

weeds they draped over their bodies. Sharing told me the sand-

walkers were driven to possess, to accumulate, and the thought of

sharing was a horror to them far worse than the end . . . the begin-

ning. All of the sandwalkers appeared to feel this way — that is, ex-

cept Sharing who for some reason possessed the philosophy of the

whale and dolphin, at least in part. She still had a varied collection

of weeds.

I really struggled with the material value system that the

sandwalker embraced. They had developed a system that gave

reward for activity, not unlike the throwing of dead fish to me. The

sandwalker collected its rewards and then hoarded it, using them at

a later tide in exchange for other things to collect. They all were

rewarded for doing normal things, and even Sharing was given valu-

ables for talking to us in the ponds. Odder still was that the other

sandwalkers did not truly believe Sharing spoke with us at all. But

they still rewarded her for doing it. It would be like a whale giving a

dolphin a bug-eye or a tuna-tail for breaching from the sea. I don’t

get it. It just doesn’t make sense. Worse than worse these collec-

tions of rewards were the measure of the value of their lives as they

passed at the end . . . the beginning.

Oh, sandwalkers were peculiar indeed.

What was the same between us was that the sandwalkers’

learning was taught in a form of the Song and passed on from father

to son, mother to daughter. Young sandwalkers were taught from an

early age to memorize bits and pieces of the sandwalker song. But

the sandwalkers who were like the Scribes were not rewarded much

at all and collected very little in their lives.

I was delighted to learn the sandwalker felt love and had

many ways to express it. Some even believed in a form of ALL

THAT IS RIGHT IN THE WORLD. Maybe there was a greater tie

binding us together than had been sung before.

Daily, Sharing brought me many of the long-dead fish. I

think she thought it was some sort of reward. Finally one day in

disgust, I asked, “Why do you and other sandwalkers throw the

long-dead fish in the water? Why cannot we have real food?”

Sharing moved her fins in the water in her odd signing way

and said, “But these are real food.”

“They are capable of sustaining,” I countered in disdain, “but

they are hardly real food. Would you, Sharing, eat of them?”

Her mouth twisted in her odd way as she said, “No, but we

eat things that would not suit you. Better still, I will show you.”

She crawled from the pool and soon came back with a large

container. From it she took a long reddish-colored tube that looked,

of all things, like a sea slug, dried and stiff. “Taste of this,” she said,

and popped the still warm object in my mouth.

I swallowed and then spat all back into the water. “What was

that?” I gagged, “It was warm, not cool like sweet meat. It cannot

be food.”

Once again Sharing’s mouth twisted in her odd smirk of de-

light. “There are some of us who do not think of this as food either,

but still many eat of it constantly. It is called a hot creature that is

furred and walks on four fins,” she signed.

I shook my head. A hot creature?

“But,” I protested, “this hot creature who is furred and walks

on four fins did not taste alive! It did not even taste of meat.”

Grimacing as many burps and gasps escaped her lips Sharing tried

to explain that a creature who is furred and walks on four fins was a

friend of the sandwalker, a bringer of great joy and laughter.

“Sandwalkers are beasts!” I sang in disgust. “Not only do

they try to kill all in the sea, they eat their friends, the furred four-fin”

With fins flashing, Sharing again tried to explain to me that

the hot meat tube was not a furred four-fin but was only called that

as a joke of sorts. The tube itself was made of a larger four-fin that

schooled like our food fish, the bug-eye and split-tail. This large

four-fin ate the seaweed that grew on the dryside.

This all was very confusing and made my head spin, so filled

was it with great knowledge.

Over the next several tides I learned more and more from

Sharing, and she from me. I was the first she had met who had trav-

eled afar in the seas. I was the first that had shared friendship with

a whale, such as Harmony, and experienced firsthand the THOU-

SAND DEATHS OF THE SANDWALKER.

But in all that I explained to Sharing, I told her not of the

great Conclave. For the Conclave’s ultimate purpose was to decide

the fate of the sandwalker once and for all. I knew not how Sharing

would react to her race’s future being held in sway at this trial. I

knew not if Sharing, once knowing the truth, would help me escape

the ponds and return to the sea. Therefore, in fear that the truth

might be likened one who was a friend to a sharp-fin — friend one

moment, food another — I maintained silence.

All this knowledge, given to me by Sharing, somehow had to

be passed on to Harmony and the Conclave that was soon to gath-

er. The other dolphin and the whale knew of the importance. This

knowledge should never be given to the Narwhal alone to be used

in their devious plan; rather Harmony must know all of the truth

before the Conclave.

During a group session when my stone pond was shared by

all the dolphins, a spasm wracked me so hard it spun me in circles,

leaving me dazed.

“It has begun,” Bitty murmured excitedly. “The child within

wants out.”

Sharing splashed over to me and comforted me as best she

could. I recovered my breath, only to be wracked a moment later

by another convulsion, stronger yet. Of all that is holy, what was I

giving birth to, a whale? The pains continued and then as quickly

as they had started, they subsided like the emptiness in the middle

of a storm.

“It has passed,” I cried in relief, “but the birth will be within

this tide.”

“I will go,” signed Sharing, “and bring other sandwalkers to

help me lift you from the water to take you where we can help.”

“No!” I exclaimed, “My child will be born in the sea, even

this sterile sea. It can be no other way!”

Sharing signed there was great danger and the baby and I

both could die. But I resolutely defied her. My child would be born

in the sea or not be born at all. The little sandwalker was agitated

but understood my resolve.

The other dolphins sang comforting melodies, and Dreamer

sang bits and pieces of the Song of the Sea to soothe me. Some

time later Sharing returned with two other sandwalkers. In an effort

to afford some privacy, the sandwalkers shooed the whale and the

dolphins back to their ponds, and I was left alone with Sharing.

She asked how I felt and I told her that, although the child

still moved within me, there hadn’t been any new pains. She signed

that the others would have come sooner except there was some

trouble in the ponds. She signed curiously, “Yet another dolphin has

been brought to the stone ponds. This is an odd dolphin and . . .”

Before she could continue, once again, my body seemed

to explode with pain. The twisting, muscle-tensing pain stiffened

me; then, as quickly as it had come, the pain disappeared like a

wave passing in the sea. The first wave was followed by another,

and yet another.

“The time is soon!” I groaned.

“Oh, dear little dolphin,” Sharing waved, “I hope you are do-

ing right to stay in the water. We will help, but it will be very difficult

and dangerous.” An incessant hammering at the other end of the

pool broke the nervous anticipation and the silence that ensued.

Something or someone kept throwing himself at the stone gate.

“What was that?” I asked.

“That,” signed Sharing, “was the dolphin I spoke of. The

odd thing is he wanted to be caught even though we didn’t want to

catch him.”

The pain began to well again, but even through the pain my

eyes opened wide. It must be.

“Quickly!” I cried. “Bring him to me. Hurry!”

Sharing seemed confused at this request but finally signed

to another sandwalker, who fiddled with a great smooth-stone ring

on the edge of the dryside. The water at the end of the pool surged,

and the new dolphin swam through the opening.

Sharing and the other sandwalkers were rudely bumped as

this interloper smashed his way to my side. I turned my head to the

most beautiful sight in all the sea, for there was Little Brother.

Then quiet settled over me and all went black as I was

wracked with an unbelievable pain.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

But as I was to learn and the others did remind me over and

over, there was still an evil in the sandwalker, maybe not all, but in

some there was no question. The dolphins and the whale shared

the song of the beluga who had died — a song filled with torture and

hideous pain. The beluga was killed by yet another sandwalker, a

male. A leader of some sort, he was the one that demanded that

they play his way and if they did not he would take their food from

them and do other unspeakable things. He was the rule — Sharing

was the exception.

Sharing.

The name was music. If she could do as they said her

actions would have great impact on all who sing the Song. It was

imperative that Harmony have this verse before the Conclave. If

one sandwalker could sing, others might, too, the possibility was

there; they might be brethren to the sea, crude but still brethren.

I needed to escape soon, but first I would have to see and

hear with my own heart the Song as sung by this sandwalker . . .

Sharing. I would have to know it first hand as the truth.

The sandwalkers’ strange clicking in the water interrupted

our gathering. Squid squiggle! Squid squiggle! the clicking called.

“Is that all they know how to say?” I asked, shaking my head.

The fat whale’s body shook and rolled like a jellyfish in

wandering seas as he laughed, “Just about. I really don’t think they

know what they sing. But they are pleased that it gets our atten-

tion. Come! We are being called. You will like this. For we now

dance for the sandwalker, and from their laughter, you will learn.”

The group moved to the other end of the great pool and

dove. I followed suit, and there below the surface was another open-

ing like the one that had appeared in my tiny pond. The sound of

the clicking became louder as I swam through the stone cave. I sur-

faced in a small sea; a much larger pool scrubbed clean and colored

in the almost-true colors of the corals of Winsome Bright. In the

center of the tiny sea was a smooth, stone island. A strange sound

emanated in rhythmic pulses that were felt in the water. Objects, like

those that were thrown in my small pool, were scattered about.

But I was taken aback not by what I had seen in the pool,

but rather by what was on the outside. Beyond the pool there stood

a great mountain filled with stacks of ridges, and on these ridges

were sandwalkers — hundreds and hundreds of them — the largest

pod of these creatures I have ever seen. They were slapping their

puny fins together like the flipper-fins sometimes were wont to do.

The air was filled with their crude noises. The only thing I

could compare it to was the passion of blood-fever that the sharp-

fins fall victim to as they hunt. My most immediate fear was that this

was the sandwalkers’ feeding time and we were their meal.

Bitty moved close to me and called loudly so that I could

hear over the roar, “Stay back against the edge of the pool and

watch. If you like laughter, even in this captive situation you will find

yourself amused.”

“Where is Sharing?” I shouted back. “Is she here, too?”

“She is here and watching but truly not a part of this activity.

When all this is over you shall meet her, fear not.”

I did as I was told and began to watch the craziest spectacle

that I have ever seen. It started with two of the dolphins, Foamer

and Bobble Nose, leaping through large rings supported over the

water. As they leaped high into the air, all of the sandwalkers be-

came highly agitated, slapping their fins and stomping their split-

tails. The air filled with whistles and clicking, such as I have never

heard before, and will likely never hear again.

As the two dolphins swam about and again leaped through

the rings, Water Spout breached high into the air touching the fin

of a sandwalker balanced on one of the great sticks. If that was not

enough, as soon as she returned to the water Bitty, Foamer, and

Bobble Nose tail-danced across the pond.

All the dolphins were laughing and calling encouragement to

one another as they bested each other’s tricks. They even beached

themselves on the slick-shored island and lifted their tails in wel-

come. All of this was greeted by a greater and greater frenzy from

the sandwalkers that reclined on the great mountain.

And then I heard, or rather at first felt, the great laughter

and joy of these strange creatures of the dryside. Suddenly, it all

made sense, for these dolphins were not captives at all. They were

bringing a bit of joy to these sad dryside creatures, who would never

know the sea, a gift of laughter and freedom they would never be

able to experience firsthand.

How truly sad it was that the sandwalker must live its puny

life as a voyeur, one who only finds happiness by watching oth-

ers enjoy. It was no wonder that they, for the most part, had never

learned to sing and had been cast from the sea by ALL THAT IS

RIGHT IN THE WORLD.

The waters rippled with excitement. The dolphins raced

about, leaping in synchronization and breaching over and over

again. Even Dreamer beached himself for a moment, and then, after

a sidelong wink to me, dove to the deepest part of the pool to be

forgotten for a moment by these sandwalkers. All four of the dolphin

tail-danced about the pool and then they, too, dove, and the waters

became still. Even the lowly sandwalker quieted their fin-slapping

and waited in silent expectation.

Then, in a watery explosion, the four dolphins breached

from the center of the pond like a giant water flower. Just as they

turned in the air for the drop back to the surface, Dreamer exploded

from the water, clearing his own massive size once over and then

fell crashing back into the sterile sea. The sandwalkers nearly went

crazy, their laughter ringing and their souls almost singing as they

leaped to their puny fins and slapped and slapped.

I wanted more. I wanted to be a part of this joy, this laugh-

ter giving, but that was not to be. My companions, laughing and

chortling, swam back the way we had come and I, shaken, turned

to follow.

“That was unbelievable,” I cried. “I have never felt such joy,

such laughter. The sandwalker seemed to echo all the laughter of

the sea and, in doing so, sent it back ten-fold.”

“See,” laughed Bitty, “the sandwalker is not all bad. He

cannot do what we do and we, in some small part, share all with

him. In turn, we learn from these creatures and in some measure are

returned with knowledge of their souls and spirits.”

“But now,” interrupted Dreamer, “you shall meet our greatest

discovery for Sharing comes now.”

I spun about but saw nothing. “How do you know she is

coming?” I asked. “There are no sandwalkers here.”

“Ah,” admonished the whale, “you have not learned to listen

with your heart. Even now we can feel her coming to us, for her

heart sings of the joy of our communication. Look! Even as we

speak, she is here.”

I spun in the water and there on the smooth dryside was

a sandwalker who looked no different than the others I had seen

before. This was the great communicator? This was to be the

salvation of the dryside? She had golden kelp that waved about her

head. Her face, mobile as all sandwalkers’, was beaming, twisted

as it was in their odd contortions. When she reached the edge of

the pool, she waved her puny fins in an odd fashion as if waving or

slapping the dryside air.

“Look,” said Water Spout, “she wishes us a joyful morning

and prays the song will be sung.”

“You’ve eaten a too-long dead fish,” I said. “She has done

nothing more than wave her fins to ward off a bug or to cool her skin.”

The others laughed, “That is how she speaks, with her fins.”

“Then,” I continued defiantly, “tell her to set me free. Tell

her I am with child and must return to the sea and my mate who

waits for me.”

“Be patient, Laughter Ring,” admonished the whale, “for she

can only hear us and sense the Song, if you would, when she is in

the water. Wait and watch, for you shall see.”

I waited and watched skeptically as Sharing dove crisply into

the water. The others swam to her, and I followed, doubt clouding

my thoughts. The old dolphin began speaking very slowly, over

enunciating every word, “We, your friends, will sing to you the Song

of the Sea.”

I listened carefully but could hear no answer. Sharing nei-

ther said nor sang anything. Instead, she began moving her fins in

the water.

“She says she is ready to listen with open heart to all that

can be sung this day.”

“Coral crap!” I said disgustedly, “You have all been too long

captive in this prison. The water is silent as she speaks.”

“You listen wrong, pregnant dolphin,” retorted Bitty impatiently.

“How can I listen wrong?” I continued, undaunted by their

display of stupidity, “I listen as I always have — with all my sensing

devices. I have heard the hard-shells creak as they open to feed. I

have heard a fish tail as it gently sweeps the water. But I have heard

nothing from this sandwalker who pretends to have knowledge of

the Song of the Sea.”

“You have heard nothing,” snapped Foamer, “because you

don’t know how to listen with your heart. You, in your own way,

are as deaf as Sharing. Watch her fins move. Each movement is a

note. Put all the notes together and you have song. Maybe not as

beautiful as the Song of the Sea but a song just the same.”

I watched closely as the sandwalker moved her fins again in

the water. Though it was pretty and quite poetic, I still could

hear nothing.

Bitty continued to translate this unheard conversation, “She

asks of you. She asks how you feel. She asks of the baby you car-

ry in your womb. How else would she know of the baby if she could

not speak to us?”

“Easy,” I snorted in disgust at this deception. “Anyone could

see that I am with child, either that or I am as grossly obese as you!”

The old dolphin’s eyes opened wide in shock of the insult

thrown. Carefully he turned back to Sharing and spoke slowly, “The

young pregnant dolphin does not believe. The dolphin thinks this

is all a lie. She seeks proof.”

Once again the sandwalker began to wave her arms and to

twist the tiny separate fins on fins. As she moved, Bitty spoke her

movements. “She says you were captured some brief tides ago by

several shell-sharks that cornered you in a shallow bay. She says

you were lifted upon a ship and carried closer to the shore. She

says a great steel bird flew you to this place of ponds. She says you

were examined and then placed in an isolation pool. She says you

play with your food like a child.”

My skin burned with embarrassment at the final comment,

while my heart pounded with excitement. There was no way the

dolphin or whale could know how I was brought here. There was

no way the dolphins nor whale could know how I was examined.

This sandwalker, this Sharing, could speak and, better still, she

could listen.

Shamed now, my speaking tone softened, and I gently asked,

“When, then may I leave this place, to join my mate? I am with

child, and the birthing will be soon. It is my desire to birth in the

open sea. How soon? How soon?”

Sharing looked at me with her tiny bright sandwalker eyes.

Once again, like when I was first captured, I could feel the empathy

— the compassion, the softness of spirit of this complex creature.

She moved her fins poetically and slowly to the whale and other

dolphins who easily translated for me.

“She says you shall be set free. If not by all the sandwalkers

that are here at the stone pools, then by her alone. But she says you

cannot leave now. You cannot be freed until after the baby is born.”

“But why not now?” I groused in frustration. “Why must the

child be born here?’

Again the sandwalker’s hands moved slowly in the water.

“She says you were examined. The child must be birthed here, for

there is something wrong. The child is twisted inside you. If you

birth in the open sea, alone, the child will die and so will you.”

I floated still in the water, my child’s heart beating quietly

next to mine. Should I believe? Dare I not believe that this sand-

walker has soul, has spirit? Of all that is holy, what was I to do?

The decision was made that I would stay, though my heart

yearned to escape and seek Little Brother. It was not an easy deci-

sion, for I had never had a baby before and I did not know what to

expect. I felt anxious enough this first time without alien life forms

warning me of anticipated problems.

Where was Momma Love when I needed her?

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

It was some tides later that an opening mysteriously ap-

peared at one end of the pool. As I sounded the entry looking for

lurking danger, I heard the most delightful sound — the clear, crisp

callings from others of my kind.

With strong pulls of my tail I surged into the pool’s entry,

and down through a darkened cave which I seek-sensed absent of

obstacles. I found myself in a larger pool where the others were

waiting for me: four exuberant dolphins and one fat whale.

“Thank ALL THAT IS RIGHT IN THE WORLD,” I gushed. “I

am not alone.”

“Of course you’re not, dearie,” said a wrinkled old dolphin.

“We are all here together. I am Bitty,” she laughed. “Welcome to

our home.” Quickly she introduced the others: “This is Water

Spout, Foamer, Bobble Nose and the whale, who is newest of us all,

is called Dreamer.”

“How wonderful! I am Laughter Ring” I babbled in a rush.

“Among the five of us — six counting the whale — we should be able

to find a way of escape.”

The old dolphin looked at me and laughed merrily, “Why ever

would we try to do such a foolish thing?”

“Yes, whatever for?” the rest chorused.

I looked at my fellow prisoners in total shock. “Do you mean

to say that you want to stay here? You would rather stay here as

captives than be free in the open sea?”

The plump whale called Dreamer laughed, his sides rolling in

a merry fashion. “Oh, no, no, no,” he sang. “That is to say, we don’t

really like it here, and we don’t really want to stay here. We would

much rather be in the open sea, but we still remain here of our own

free will.”

“But that is enigma,” I protested as I shook my head search-

ing for some bit of logic. “You don’t want to be here but yet you stay

of your own free will? For pity’s sake, you were all captured like I

was, and yet for some insane reason, you wish to stay? You, my

friends, have eaten too much of the dead fish.”

“Oh, my poor, little dolphin,” said Bitty as she tried to con-

sole me, “Do you really mean to say that you were caught and

didn’t want to be caught?”

“Of course I didn’t want to be caught,” I snapped, trying

desperately to make sense of their riddle-like questions that were

offered as answers to my questions.

“Listen, my sweet,” Bitty whispered, “have you noticed cer-

tain odd things as you’ve been detained here? Certain odd things

about the sandwalker?”

“Certainly,” I snarled. “I have heard the odd clicking that is

almost speech before they throw dead fish at me. I have noticed

how the sandwalkers stare and stare. But what has all this to do

with you and me?”

The other dolphins settled themselves in the water, and the

whale began to sing, “I am the most recent to come here, and I did

indeed come here of my own will, though the sandwalker would nev-

er believe that. I have been to the ice. I have listened to the Nar-

whal. They encouraged me to come. They have sent others before

— volunteers willing to be captured and not afraid to live in these

sterile confines. Once captured, I was to learn more about this evil

creature that refuses to acknowledge the Song of the Sea.”

The old dolphin continued, “For thousands of tides, many

of us, the dolphin, the whale, and even our crude cousins, the

flipper-fin, have given ourselves up to imprisonment here. While

penned and locked in these sterile surroundings, we study the

sandwalker, we learn about him. We learn of his strengths and we

learn of his weakness. As each new member is added, we share

our songs so that all can benefit from the knowledge that we have

gained while in voluntary captivity.”

Water Spout looked around, ever the conspirator, and add-

ed, “At times one or more of us either escapes or has been set

free. The information all of us have gathered is taken back to the

Narwhal. The Narwhal assimilate the information into their song

and pass that information along in the Holy Song of Truth. They,

in turn, sing to any who come near maintaining the melody of the

Song of the Sea.”

“But life here is not without its risks.” Bitty sighed, “before

Dreamer there was another whale, a beluga. He was killed!”

I recoiled in shock, “How?”

The oldest dolphin sighed, looked at the others and then

continued, “We are expected to do certain things. The Beluga, a

fat, fun-loving lump of whale, couldn’t do the ‘certain things’ and

finally was separated from us, a hundred tides or so, ago.”

The little dolphin called Bobble Nose whispered, “We heard

him scream – many times, but we never knew what was happening.

I saw him being lifted from the isolation pond. He was dead.”

I twisted in the water both by a birth-cramp and the shock

of what had been told. I quickly explained what had transpired and

of that the prophesy had been fulfilled and that the Conclave that

had been called of all those who swim in the sea. Finally, with tears

in my eyes, I told them of my mate, Little Brother, and of the child I

now carried. I told them of my loss of free will as I was stolen from

the sea.

“Oh, Laughter Ring,” Foamer cried, “you are with child.

This will make it more difficult, but we will see that you are freed.”

“You talk of freedom and of escape,” I wailed, “but I have

seen these stone pools, and there is no escape.”

“True,” said Bitty, “but in tides past, whale and dolphin like

you are put in our midst to grow in strength, and then, for some

reason we have never understood, the sandwalker takes them back

to the sea. My guess is that you will be freed soon.”

“But if that is true,” I continued, “then I might be imprisoned

for many tides before they decide to set me free! The Conclave

comes soon, and I have to carry what you have said to Harmony.”

Dreamer’s eyes narrowed in deep concern. “If what you say

is true, and I have no doubt that it is, then it is important that you

are set free. We have made discovery that will shake the very mel-

ody of the Song itself. You see, we have discovered a sandwalker

that not only has soul but she can understand and now sings,

though crudely, the Song of the Sea. She will help us.”

My mind raced with the possibility, but I knew there was no

way it could be true. The crude sandwalkers — known to be the

source of all the evil in the sea — simply could not know the Song.

“That is impossible. The Narwhal sing that the sandwalker is the

root of all evil. The Narwhal have wanted the Conclave so that all

the brethren would turn as one against the sandwalker, and in doing

so kill them! What you say cannot be true!”

“It is true, that which the Dreamer has sung,” Bitty said firm-

ly, “I have been here longer than any of the others. The sandwalker

can sing.”

“But,” I protested, “I have heard the crude clickings in the

water. The best I have been able to make out is that they can say

squid squiggle which makes no sense at all to me. This can hardly

be called the singing of the Song.”

Bitty continued, “This sandwalker does not listen to the

other sandwalkers, nor for that matter does she truly hear our Song.

But rather she feels, with her fins and her whole body when im-

mersed in the water, the Song as sung by the whale and the stories

as told by the dolphin. By our standards and the standards of the

sandwalker, she cannot hear a single word spoken or sung. Al-

though she is totally deaf, she is filled with the gift of spirit.”

I thought about all they had sung, then countered with logic

of my own, “If this sandwalker cannot hear, but in some way senses

and feels the Song, how can she sing? We all know that those who

cannot hear, also have no voice.”

“She sings with her fins an odd song. Though this seems

unbelievable, we are able to understand her, and she us. We are

unable to speak or sing her name as the sandwalker does in the gut-

tural burping, but we have given her an honor never before bestowed

on one who swims on the dryside. We have given her a place in the

Song of the Sea. We have given her a name.”

And then together the four dolphins and the whale chorused,

“She is called Sharing.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

My death was short-lived and somewhat premature. The

tough kelp that held me beneath the surface was stripped away, and

puny little fins pulled me to the surface. When I was yanked from

the water, my lungs gave an involuntary gasp, and filled with wel-

come air. All my senses returned in a flash of black to red to white

to light. I was quite surrounded — captured, if you would — by slick-

skinned sandwalkers who swam in the water with me.

A skin of some sort had been wrapped around me, and I was

quite unceremoniously lifted above the sea and dropped into the

shell-shark. I had seen the inside of one of these strange creatures

before when Little Brother and I had breached above its sides, but

nothing prepared me for the actual experience of riding on its back.

I stayed perfectly still — more from fear than from curiosity

about my surroundings. The back of this shell swarmed with pu-

ny-finned sandwalkers who rushed about doing odd things to odd

things. Some would bend down beside me and look me in the eye

and offer a strange whistle punctuated with guttural burping (and

Little Brother thought my singing out of tune).

From deep within this hard-shell’s creature’s bowels, I could

hear it buzzing and groaning. Soon it began to pitch and yaw in the

open sea, and I could tell that it was attempting to swim.

The sandwalkers now regularly leaned down to touch me as

was their desire and strange satisfaction. Still others splashed me

with water. Then they did the oddest thing: they smeared my body

from nose to tail with sickeningly sweet, melted jellyfish.

Then for no apparent reason, they placed a very cold and

long-dead fish in my mouth. Did they really wish that I would eat

such filth? I spat the dead thing out. They pushed it back in. I spat.

They pushed.

Food fight!

I looked up and could see an odd spirit burning in the eyes

of my captors. This fish dance must be some ceremony of great re-

ligious significance. I finally relented and swallowed the fish whole.

In this manner I was fed three dead fish, and somehow this

satisfied these odd sandwalkers. They asked me to eat no more.

I didn’t see much as the shell-shark swam, and the sounds

and smells of the dryside assailed my senses. The beast settled

into a steady stroke as the smells grew stronger and the sweet scent

of the sea was replaced by other unidentified scents.

Suddenly the shell-shark went silent, and floated still in

the water.

But all that had happened was soon forgotten as the air was

filled with a heavy slapping sound. The wind stirred about me; the

strange wispy seaweed on the sandwalkers’ heads blew this way and

that. I could see nothing forward other than puny fins and the yel-

lowed skin of the shell-shark. I looked up and to my horror; there

above was the largest feathered-fury I have ever seen — if indeed it

was a feathered-fury at all. It looked something like a shell-shark

but with a great fin that spun crazily about.

It hovered above me for a time, a whomping sound pulsing

the air. Finally it dropped a large coil of kelp to the back of the

shell-shark. The skin on which I rested was twisted in the kelp, and

with a slap on my back, I was lifted into the air with a lurch, a cap-

tive of this flying beast.

Finally, I knew what was to happen. I was to be fed to this

great unfeathered fury. I waited for that moment I would enter its

belly and truly and finally be joined with the end . . . the beginning.

Surprisingly I was not eaten, but, instead, I was carried to great

heights, lifted clear up into the clouds.

Higher and higher I was raised, but I refused to look up

anymore and cast my eyes down to the sea. Lo, what a world! The

dryside seemed filled with straight-lined mountained corals that

reached for the sky but with no water to surround them. I yearned to

see more of these strange miracles, but we left the coral mountains

and moved ahead with the sea on one side of the shell-shark and

the dryside on the other.

As the huge fury moved slowly, I could see odd islands of wa-

ter trapped in coral pools surrounded by the dryside — the opposite

of all I had known. It was to these dryside water islands the great

bird dropped, and I was sure that here was where it nested and kept

its young.

Ah, ha! That was it! I was to be fed to the young of this

flying monstrosity. As if in answer, the beast dropped lower and

lower, until I was nearly touching the dryside. But instead of finding

myself pounced upon by hungry, hopping, children, I was instantly

surrounded by sandwalkers who gently guided me to a soft landing

on a raised slab of cool stone.

With their fins all around, they pushed me, and I glided past

the smooth coral and rock into the dryside itself. Here in the land of

the sandwalker, the golden light was trapped in smooth water orbs

that glowed like the light of day. On and on I was whisked through

the walls of stone that opened with crashes and clanks. At last, I

was stopped in a great room filled with acid smells and odd plants

that grew in odd directions.

I began to panic and flipped my body mightily against the

restraints. A sharp stinging pain distracted me on my right side, and

suddenly I could not move at all, save for my eyes. But I could feel,

though numbly, the length of my body. Every bit of my surface skin

was poked and prodded: my eyes, my vent, my tongue and teeth.

Nothing was left unexamined.

And then these creatures, long cast from the sea, became

quite excited. They began to whistle and burp faster and faster.

They all rushed from my sight, yet I was still able to hear them. In

a way that only a mother could understand, I knew they had found

my baby, the child growing in my womb, and for the first time I truly

feared for my child. There was nothing I could do, no protection

could I offer.

Reverently now, a sandwalker with gentle eyes and long sea-

weed draped from its head came to gaze. We stared at one another

for the longest of times, and I reached out with my heart, beseech-

ing it to set me free. But sandwalkers cannot sing, and those who

cannot sing cannot hear the song as it is sung.

There was more poking and prodding, then some new sharp

stings. My skin began to tingle as life was given back to me.

After a time, once again I was carried on the slab of stone

through the strange narrow canyons and, once again, into the

non-captive light, that golden light of the true day.

I was lifted again and felt the comfort of those waters of life

wash me as I was put back in the water. I breathed deep and thought

I could almost smell the sweetness of the open sea. But this water,

oddly enough, seemed too clean. Was I actually free? I cast a

sounding cry, but the echo returned coldly from all around. I real-

ized I was trapped in a captive water island completely surrounded

by stone and coral.

I swam about this pool of sterile water faster and faster,

seeking escape, but none was found. I breached and leaped from

the water over and over again to further view my alien surround-

ings. All I could see were other pools and sandwalkers standing

around, gaping.

For how long I spun in that pool I know not. The skies

turned first to pink, then purple, then black. The blinking lights

of night winked at me just as they had done in other places, other

times. Suddenly, in a flash of blinding light, I was back in the bright

light of day. But no, it was not the sun, but rather, strange crystal

orbs that had captured bits of light and now brightly flooded the

pool in which I swam.

I moved to the center of this dryside pool, floating there still

for the longest of time, and the sandwalkers moved away one by one

on their puny fins. Then, as quickly as the light of day had come, it

disappeared, and I was plunged into the cool, soothing darkness of

the silverside night.

I called out, hoping against hope that a pod close to shore

might hear, but I was rewarded only by the echoing of the water on

the smooth rock shores. There was no one to hear me in my plight.

There would be no dramatic rescue. I was trapped, captured in

some nightmare dream, ripped from my home, my life, the sea.

I shouted out in my fear and anger, but there was no Little

Brother to soothe me. I laughed, and then I cried.

I slept fitfully through the night, and as the early golden

light crept across the stone ponds, I was awake and searching for

some opening that might afford my escape. Search though I might,

I found nothing other than the bubbly source of the sterile water. I

leaned into the stream of bubbles, but I could smell no trace of the

open sea, only unnatural scents. Oddly, the water burnt my eyes.

It was with my head in the bubbles that I thought I heard

voices of others. It was faint, a whispering, barely echoing through

the dryside from the other ponds, but definitely voices. There were

four or five individual dolphin and the singing of one whale. They

were excited but their song lacked the deep feeling, the emotion,

and the passion of the others that I had known in the open seas.

After a while, things settled down, and I could not hear the whisper-

ings anymore.

In a frustration born of boredom, I swam in the widest circles

possible, more than anything because I felt the need for exercise

and the chance to relieve the pains of the cramps the baby was

causing. I had not swum for long when there came an odd clicking

sound, followed by the splash of something thrown in the water. I

sourced the object, and by its size, I knew it must be a fish. I surged

down to it and was shocked to find another of those long-dead fish

so favored by the sandwalker.

“Why do they do that?” I wondered. “Is it some sort of game

for the sandwalker to throw dead fish at dolphin?”

I nosed the fish around the pond, trying to revive it, when the

odd clicking began again. There was a splash, and another dead

fish joined the collection.

“This is getting ridiculous,” I spoke out loud. “What am I to

do with these?”

But I knew they were to be eaten. For the sake of the child,

for the sake of myself, who was very hungry, I ate the very dead

fish. In truth, it wasn’t that bad; it was worse. When the second

was eaten, the odd clicking came again, and another fish, and an-

other were thrown into the water.

It was obvious where the fish came from; what was not ob-

vious was the meaning of it all. Why were they attempting to feed

me? Why did they trap me in the first place? What did they want?

What was the game?

After I had eaten my fill and the last two fish were left to rest

and sing their silent song on the bottom of the pond, the strange

clicking stopped. I was alone with the solitary sound of slapping

water on smooth rock shores. The walls of the pond reared half my

length up from the lapping water, which made it nearly impossible to

see anything on the dryside, and there was much dryside to see.

There was nothing to do, save swim in circles, which I had

already done so much, that I was dizzy. Bored, I kicked with tail

and lifted out of the water to better view the stone pond. What a

surprise! A group of sandwalkers swarmed together just on the other

side of the wall, watching me. I don’t know who was more shocked

— the sandwalkers or me. I quickly back-flipped into the water.

But why were they staring at me?

Before I could ponder much, the sandwalkers made their way

to the edge of the pool, gawking with their odd, dry-blinking eyes.

Seeing them stand there watching, I was overwhelmed with anger.

They had taken me from the sea. They had taken me from Little

Brother. They had taken me from all that I loved.

I leaped in the center of the pool and circled underwa-

ter, pausing for a moment below the spot where the sandwalkers

watched. I swam around again and again gaining speed, then

breached as high as my plump body would allow. My plan was to

slam one of them full face with my tail, but the best I accomplished

was to wash them clean.

I back-swam with my head out of the water, angrily berating

them for what they had done. “You slime-gutted jellyfish. You eggs

that were never hatched,” I ranted and railed. From the dryside

came the burbles and burps of excited sandwalkers. Maybe they

liked the water. Using my front fins, I tossed more and more water

at them, hoping to wash just one of them into the tank to possibly

have a little chat, but all that happened was that the sandwalkers

were forced back from the slick-stone shore.

Every time they returned to the edge, I rewarded them with

vertical rain, but soon even I tired of this game and retired to the

center of the pool. As the day went on, they, too, tired of just

watching. A few of the sandwalkers drifted away, and others dragged

things to the edge of the pool. Then the clicking began again.

What did it mean? I listened to the tonal echoing in the

water. There was a faint, very faint, resemblance to the crudest of

speech, but it sounded like no singing creature I had ever heard

before. If those repeated clickings were some odd kind of speech

or song, they obviously meant very little. Freely translated, they

meant, squid squiggle. But was this some kind of code? Were the

sandwalkers trying to communicate with me? Did they think I was a

squiggle-fin?

This unusual communication only took place in the golden

light. During the silverside nothing happened at all. The return

of the sandwalkers to the stone pond was always preceded by the

clicking words, squid squiggle. During the long nights when I was

unable to sleep, I would think about the noises and actually reached

the point where I could imitate the sounds. If there was a secret

code in what they were saying, my understanding was awfully slow

in coming.

The sandwalker at least kept my captivity interesting with

bits of junk that they threw in the water. I examined it all carefully,

searching for the answer to what the sandwalker wanted of me.

But what odd junk!

There was a red-skinned orb as round and as smooth as a

water-washed stone, and also a flat circle with a hole in the middle

that seemed made of a strange floating skin. There was also a larg-

er circle that they suspended over the pool, vertical to the water and

the sky.

I threw whatever the sandwalkers tossed to me back at them.

My hope was that I might hit one of them full in the face, but if this

creature had a special ability, it was adeptness in the way it could

use its puny fins, and it managed to catch all of my ill-timed missiles.

Oh, how I wished for just one of the floating poisoned jellied

fish. That would indeed give them something to catch.

The circle that they suspended above the pool will always be

a mystery to me. The best I can figure is that it held some religious

significance. Once I even jumped through it, but the sandwalkers

became so agitated, I avoided that practice in the future.

My other problem was that I was becoming more and more

pregnant every tide, and escape, though seemingly impossible, was

always foremost in my thoughts. I continued to eat the dead fish

that were thrown into the water, for there was nothing else to eat,

the smooth stone pool was devoid of all life.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The two of us moved toward the dryside and as the wa-

ters rippled around us in wake, I cheerfully chided my mate, “You

thought I was fat? In all my years I will never be as fat as your

head, you bait fish.”

“Well, how was I to know?” said he with a laugh.

I looked at him in total shock at his naiveté. I splashed him

in the face and, pretending insult, swam quickly away. It was be-

coming more of a chore to stay ahead, for I was now swimming for

two. Little Brother easily caught up and spoke a quick, mumbled,

and squeaky apology. Then he splashed me full in the face, and

the laughter returned to our journey as we sought the others. For

the Conclave of all who sang in the sea was to be the greatest event

ever since the beginning of ALL THAT IS RIGHT IN THE WORLD.

As we traveled down the world telling all of the great gath-

ering our play and love-making was restrained, as if the child I was

carrying was some frightening mystery. With the passing of the

tides, Little Brother once again began to act with the same reckless

abandon of our idyllic days in the corals of Winsome Bright. He

was a bit gentler and not quite as rough when we played the simple

games that made us dolphin.

I loved all the laughter and the games Little Brother invented,

for if anything, I played even rougher than before. Often I would slap

water full in his face with my tail for no other purpose than to hear

him squeak in shock and delight at the deception. Fat indeed!

For the moment, child bearing was a great lark, but there

were some little things that caused me a bit of dismay. The child

growing within me took away from my sleekness and also interfered

with the smoothness of my swimming. For the most part, I felt I was

swimming like a rock.

My dives, however, did become things of great power. I could

quickly drop into the deep, leaving my mate far behind. The return

was an entirely different matter. Little Brother and I would surge

up, and he would leap into the dryside in a great, powerful, rainbow

arch. I, on the other fin, would surface only to flop back to where we

belonged. Not quite a thing of beauty and grace.

To compensate for the extra weight I was carrying, I began

to eat more and more to add body fat, in theory — my theory — to

increase my buoyancy. I would devour anything and everything: the

firm fish that are sleek of skin and bright of eye, the twisted-legged

squid, and also the slow and somewhat dull-eyed bottom fish that

tasted like mud but were filling just the same.

The odd thing was that everything was absolutely delicious

— in unusual combinations, and in great quantities. I’m sure Little

Brother was dismayed and slightly disgusted with me, but what was

I to do? Everything tasted so good.

I came even to love the bitterness and texture of the long,

floppy kelp, which normally no self-respecting dolphin would eat. In

shock at my unusual diet, Little Brother would turn the color and

hue of a stormy sea and swim away. I found myself eating alone

quite often. It all tasted so good, and the extra fat did help me float,

though like a water-soaked bit of dryside wood.

The message carried by Little Brother and me was of ex-

treme importance to all who lived in the sea. My mate would dash

ahead to tell the others, and then return to check on my progress.

He would usually find me chugging along, with my cheeks both

plump and pumping, as I munched upon this or that.

One tide, in the bright of the morning sun that warmed our

sides as we swam, he said, “I know that you are great with our child,

but we must find some way to hurry on our way or the Conclave will

be sung, and all we will hear is a vague echo in the sea.”

“But I am doing all I can,” I argued. “Perhaps you could help?”

“And how would you best propose, my sweet Laughter Ring,

that I do that? Should I drag you through the seas with a bit of

kelp? Or maybe you wish that I would carry you on my great back?”

“Hmm,” I reflected in jest, “your back may be broad but I am

afraid not sturdy enough for the child and me. Maybe you could

give a ride to a bug-eye, something more your own size?”

I must have insulted Little Brother with my pregnant humor,

for he swam ahead and soon disappeared. I lumbered along, my

wake wide and without definition. Soon I was shocked to feel myself

lifted slightly in the water, and there I was swimming at great speed.

Below me, I could sense the strong undulations of Little

Brother as he tried vainly to accommodate my wishes. I could feel,

rather than hear, his laughter bubbling beneath me. Together, we final-

ly crashed through a wave and were left giggling in the surf and foam.

We rolled in the water nosing and slapping each other and

as was our desire we became delightfully entangled in love-making.

Our laughter and love was frozen in mid-giggle by dolphin voices.

In our frolic and play, we had broken into the perfect formation of

a regimented group of needle-nose dolphin, the strictest and most

organized in the sea. We settled down, feeling a bit foolish.

“I’m sorry,” Little Brother said gathering his composure as

best he could. “My mate and I are on a quest to tell all of the Con-

clave, a great congregation of all the thinking creatures of the sea.”

When he finished, the sea ran silent.

Finally, a wrinkled, narrow female spoke, “All this sounds

very suspect coming from two dolphin who cannot think two seri-

ous thoughts in a row. Could this be no more than a fabrication to

bring you laughter? How do we know whether you tell us nothing

more than fun-filled lies?”

“Yes,” the others chorused prudishly and prudently. “How do

we know that you do not lie?”

I was ready, as was Little Brother, to bash a few heads to

convince this group of needle nose dolphins the truth of our words,

when we were interrupted.

“Because they tell the truth!”

I spun to see our champion, only to be brushed aside by the

leader of the group who continued to speak. “These dolphin, silly

though they may be, do speak the truth. I have heard the Narwhal

sing in the colder waters. I have seen the whales throw themselves

up onto the dryside to die in protest of all the destruction wrought

by the sandwalker. I lost my mate to a shell-shark that carries the

sandwalker into the sea. We will join the Conclave!”

This odd pod of dolphin, in their strict formation, promised

to carry the message of the Conclave as they made their way up the

seas to the gathering. It was with relief that we bid them farewell,

but not until they admonished us again for our silliness and inappro-

priate behavior.

Rebuked, we swam away in solemn silence.

“Forgive me, Laughter Ring, I am so silly,” Little Brother

whispered as we moved away.

“No, it is not yours to forgive, for it was I who was most sil-

ly,” I said.

“No, no, little pregnant love-starved dolphin it was I and I

alone that was silliest of all. Yes, yes, I am silly most.” Argued Lit-

tle Brother.

“I think that I am silly most and more than you. You are

more the idiot.” I snickered.

We could contain ourselves no longer and both broke into

laughter, and the waves rippled with our joy.

We continued on but it was becoming more and more evident

that in my advanced state of pregnancy, I was holding us slow in the

water. Soon Little Brother began swimming ahead crying out his

message to any and all who would hear.

One tide as I lumbered along he came rushing excitedly to

me. “Come, my little lumpy lover,” he laughed merrily, “I have found

you a ride.”

Curiously, I followed. Soon we came upon a large shell-

shark plowing through the water. I was shocked to see Little Brother

rush to the front of the beast. There he threw himself in its path

but, instead of being run over, he was carried along by the massive

wave it created as it hacked its way through the seas.

So this was his ride for me. With a giggle, I soon caught

up with the ponderous shell-shark and placed myself beside Little

Brother in this great shell-made wave. I was carried along effortless-

ly, and with an occasional kick or two, I would stay there, racing

along at great speed.

We glided this way, exhilarated by the effortless speed, shout-

ing to all of the coming Conclave. The message was received by a

small pod of whale here, and groups of dolphin and flipper-fin there,

as we moved along. Unfortunately, all good things soon come to an

end. When the great shell-shark reached shallow water, precursor to

the dryside, it slowed and then nearly stopped. Our free ride ended.

Little Brother began to swim once again under our own pow-

er, but it was obvious I was slowing us down. Finally, I stopped and

cried out to Little Brother who had rushed ahead.

He swam back to me, and I said, “My mate, my love, the

Conclave is too important. Go and tell all who would hear and

have them tell others. I will wait near the dryside, and when you are

finished come back for me. Together we shall move up the seas to

join the meeting.”

Little Brother protested about my safety but I quickly con-

vinced him that I would be safe. It was only after much arguing that

he reluctantly agreed, and after much cuddling, he resumed the

quest alone but unencumbered. I laughed at his warm memory as

I wiled the hours and tides, ever moving closer to shore where the

feeding was easy.

On the seventeenth tide after Little Brother departed, several

yellow-skinned shell-shark-hummers came buzzing into the cove

where I fed. I was much accustomed to the sandwalkers and their

odd, noisy craft. Truly, I feared them not at all, knowing I could eas-

ily escape if they became over-friendly. Besides, Little Brother and I

had taught Harmony that some of the puny-finned sandwalkers were

but curious to touch us.

As the hummers skittered about, they suddenly seemed to

be just over there, and there, and there. It was with much conster-

nation that I realized they seemed to be everywhere. Still I felt safe

in the knowledge that I could dive to safety if the need should arise,

and I continued my feeding.

Suddenly I knew that something was amiss. The shell-

sharks were moving slowly around me, circling in tighter and tighter

circles. If I swam this way they moved this way. If I swam that way

they moved that way, and now unfortunately I had been moved near-

ly to the dryside where I couldn’t dive beneath them for the water

was too shallow. I decided to charge at them, and then veer off

between. In that way, I would gain the open water.

I rushed at the hummers, and then at the last moment, I dove

and was shocked nearly out of my wits to find myself wrapped in

the strange kelp web. I struggled only to become wound in these

unnatural nets. I had seen these webs before, but never had I been

tangled. How stupid of me!

I struggled and tore at the captive kelp, but only succeeded

in using all my reserve of sweet air, and my strength ebbed fast. I

needed to breathe.

I twisted and turned in the effort to free myself, but to no

avail. I prepared to die and to return to the end . . . the beginning.

Little Brother, my mate, my friend, I loved you. . .