CHAPTER FOUR
The tides passed quickly with the journey, and soon we
reached the cool, crisp waters where the deep quickly filled with the
joy of our song. As in tides past we grew strong there, eating the
wonderful variety of foods that abounded in these waters: Tuna-tail
and flipper-fin all made us fat and contented with the life we led. At
times the irreverent humming of the shell-sharks broke the stillness
of the sea, but they kept their distance and no one was harmed. It
was a time in my life when I thought nothing would ever change.
But the waters are always moving, and with that movement
comes constant change. We had been in the cool waters this time
for nearly a hundred tides when there came the strangers who
changed all of our lives forever. That tide, the golden lights turned
to muted gray as the dryside waters. Clouds skittered nearly at
water’s height, and there was no sky. It was a tide when I wished for
nothing more than to fall asleep and wake to an early golden light.
I had been at the outside of the pod, fishing for sweet meats
in the sea. I was darting about, playing as much as hunting, when
out of the murk of the deep came two ghostly forms, a silent bull
whale and his mate. They were the first strangers I had ever met,
although I had heard the faint song of the other whales. They stood
off from me, floating still, seeming to be etched in the crystal sea.
In time the female began to sing a melancholy song with a
lilting accent the likes that I had never heard before, “We two come
as one. We come from a pod that is no more and never shall be.
My mate was the Scribe, the recorder of the song as sung by our
pod. He has reason now to sing to your Scribe that which must be.
He must sing his final song of the sea so that we may join the oth-
ers.” With that, she sang no more, the two floating deathly still in
the water.
I frantically rushed through the pod searching for Tympani. I
finally found him listening on the far side and quickly told him of the
ghostly pair.
Tympani’s eye widened. This truly was an event of great
significance. “This, my Harmony,” he said, “is a deep sadness and
does not bode well for the two strangers. For this Scribe must sing
a song of the End of all as he knows it, before his song is complete.
He must sing through the entire song to someone like me so that he
too may have the end, the beginning. For a Scribe without an ac-
tive pod song is a whale without reason for living. Come, you may
listen, too, so that you might learn.”
We swam silently through the pod back to where the two
ghostly whales were waiting. Tympani approached slowly and then
stopped and sang the gentle opening of our song. His intonations
were followed by the sweet lonely wail of the other Scribe, as he
countered with the opening to his song.
There was a pause, a blood-racing silence in the sea, and
then the stranger continued in soft, deathly whisper, “I wish to sing
my song. In singing my song I will pass it on to you and then I may
end, so that I might begin again.”
“Our pod began at the beginning, and it has swum the mighty
waters of life recording all. There have passed many tides, and I
am the twelfth and last in a series of Scribes that has recorded our
song. Our song now ends in the glory of the END OF ALL, to hon-
or one who wished all to share in the end, the beginning.”
In a deep, rich voice he sang of a lifetime of hunts, both in
warm waters and cold. He sang of conflicts with the sandwalkers
and their occasional attacks. He sang of strange lights on the dry-
side beyond the waters. He sang of good. He sang of evil. He sang
of the life and of the death in his pod. As the whale sang, he musi-
cally bridged a chorus that resounded in lyric about the honorable
end he called the THOUSAND DEATHS OF THE SANDWALKER,
a symphony of glorious death to honor another. “We learned of the
THOUSAND DEATHS from the ghosts of the sea, the Narwhal of
the Horn. They taught us of the honor achieved in the DEATH, the
protest of the sandwalker, the essence of all evil in the sea.”
How long we floated and listened I do not know but this
strange song told all the history of this unknown pod that for what-
ever reason seemed to have disappeared. Then, as the golden light
began to change to the dark of the silverside, he sang these words
I shall never forget, “But we are no more and never shall be, for we
took upon us the honor and pledge of the THOUSAND DEATHS
OF THE SANDWALKER as dreamed by the mystical Narwhal.
Once the pod gave its pledge, it beached itself upon the shore so
that all might die in honor of one whose end was near and to protest
the encroachment of the sandwalkers on the sea.”
“What are the mystical Narwhal?” I whispered to our Scribe.
“Shh,” snapped Tympani, “Narwhal are the whales that no
longer exist.”
“What?” I muttered.
”Shh!”
The other whale paused looking at me bleary-eyed, then
continued his song, “Our Director had dedicated his lifetime to
honor us all. Our leader was afraid, in part, of dying alone and
asked us all to go with him to the end, the beginning. There is
only one test that will stop the THOUSAND DEATHS OF THE
SANDWALKER, and that is the sanity of the whale that requests
the honor and the sacrifice. How there can be sanity in such a re-
quest, I do not know, but our leader was judged to be right with the
world, and the pod agreed to join in this beaching . . . this protest
to the sandwalkers on the dryside.”
The two ghostly whales drew close as they sang this final
stanza, “Chanting and wailing the pod swam to the edge of the world
and lifted themselves onto the dryside. And there, voices sounding
as one, they expelled their last breath as they died. Thus we sing
our song. Thus we end our song. There is no more to our Song
of the Sea.”
The waters ran colder still as the final notes of this strange
song echoed, following the waves to the dryside. The two floated
flatly in the water. I looked, and then I looked again shocked, for
there was no life in them. They were both dead! They had died in
the singing of the final notes of their song.
As we floated in reverence near them the old, querulous voice
of Philosophy murmured, “I have heard this Death wish verse sung
before,” he mused, “still a very strange ending indeed. I must weigh
the values of this. Is it good or is it bad? Is it right or is it mad? I
wonder.” With that, he began swimming away.
“But what of the Narwhal?” I asked again, shocked and
moved by all that I had heard, “What are they?”
“The Narwhal lived long, long ago,” Tympani’s voice whis-
pered from afar, “but it is sung that they were killed one and all by
the sandwalker. It is said that their ghosts wander the sea seeking
revenge against those who caused their extinction, by convincing
other pods to give their lives in protest — the Thousand Deaths – a
great beaching.”
We floated for a time, in respect and honor of those pass-
ing beyond, then backed away as the two ghostly images dropped,
swinging from side to side, into the waters deep, never to sing again.
It took many tides for the memory of that ghostly pair to fade,
but like the morning mist, it soon burned thin and soon was gone
from the forefront of my memory. In the meantime the pod had
moved to the top of the world where the water was clear and so cold
that massive mountains of ice floated on the sea like some dryside
islands. It was in the shelter of these islands of ice that I did often
seek solace from the bickering of my age mates.
Early one tide, as I swam between the floes of ice, my child-
hood friends called out to me to play some silly game. Deep in
thought I swam beneath the ice to escape the noise of their game. I
moved swiftly through the water and when their voices were nothing
but a faint whisper I rose to the surface only to find myself surround-
ed by frozen walls of the water — ice. Everywhere I looked were
reflections of me. Like an echo of light, my many images bounced
and glittered all around me. I forgot the others and began singing
simple songs that caused the frost and rhyme to chime in harmony.
I floated there for hours wrapped in the wonder of my own conceit.
As light turned to dark, the walls of ice became even more magical,
filled with myriad dancing lights that skipped along the sky in a pro-
fusion of fantastical colors, shimmering as if they were not there.
Finally, I realized I must return to the pod and dove down and
under the crystal islands. With one eye cast above for the silverside
light, I continued diving but could not reach the dryside. I swam
and I swam as my heart began to pound like a great drum in my
ears. My lungs began to ache and my mind screamed the need for
breath. I raced along, the ice ever present above. Now my reflec-
tion was a haunting image above me, mocking me in my fear.
When I thought I could swim no more, I spied dancing lights
on open water above. I breached high into the dryside blowing
hard. Snow now speckled the sky. I sucked in the sweet air and
slowly my heart stilled its hammering. I looked around but could
see nothing of other whales, and new panic replaced old. Where
was the pod?
I quelled my fears and listened, at first hearing nothing but
the gentle wash of the sea. Then I began to hear the welcome
sounds of whale nearby, feeding. Relieved, I swam toward the mut-
ed song. As I swam back to the pod I availed myself of a few of the
sweet-meated flash-fish that came my way. Soon, I found myself
hunting in pack with other whales swimming on the other side of
this gigantic school of fish. I ate and ate, and soon I was once
again satisfied with life.
I sang out in joy my simple song of adventure in the mirrored
ice. I had just finished my new verse when I realized that no one
else was singing. I stopped mid-note, embarrassed that somehow
I was singing out of tune. Then I heard the others, and something
was definitely wrong! The song wasn’t right; the melody was differ-
ent and the pitch had changed.
I moved closer to the singing whales and then stopped. This
wasn’t my pod. Before me were the most peculiar whales I had ever
seen. Their skin was opalescent, pearly white; almost as white as
mine, and each whale had a long, twisted horn of ivory growing in
the center of its head.
“Oh, tides! Am I dead or am I dreaming?” I moaned trying to
put this visage into some logical sense.
A heavily accented voice rang out from close range, “You are
not dead and you are not dreaming though as a white whale without
horn, you are an oddity, even here. Prophetic, some might say.”
I turned to the sound, and there was another of these strange
horned whales floating vertical in the water, the lights of the silver-
side sparkling down from the surface. “What are you?” I muttered.
“Are you whale or fish or something magically in-between?”
“We are the Narwhal of the Horn,” whispered the other whale
in his odd accent. “I am Godwin, the Avenger, I am the keeper of the
Holy Song of Truth. ”The pod of Narwhal had moved closer and the
water buzzed as they chorused, “And this is good!”
“Surely you have heard The Holy Song of Truth?” Godwin
continued, moving closer. “Our song is the essence of the Song of
the Sea. Others have come to hear our song, the truth, the only
truth. We sing of wisdom. We are the chorus from all of the pods
that sing.” Again, the water agitated as the pod intoned, “And this
is good!” “From us the truth of the dryside sandwalker is known. To
us comes the plight of the dolphin and our other brethren, these
truths are woven into the Holy Song of Truth and then are sung for
all to hear. For we, the Narwhal of the Horn, were there at the be-
ginning of it all and our song is the oldest song of all.” “And this is
good!”
Godwin had moved nearly within a fluke’s distance of me
and again twisted his body upright in the water. His closeness was
uncomfortable and there was a sense of energy that was not unlike
the feeling that I had when the sharp-fin had ignored Cacophony’s
first attack. I was filled with unease, but still and all was captivat-
ed by the hypnotic tone of this horned whale. “I have heard you
called both Narwhal,” I sang nervously as the pod drew even closer,
“and the Ghost that wander the seas, but I was told that you all had
passed on to ALL THAT IS RIGHT IN THE WORLD.”
The pod murmured in unison, “A lie! A lie!”
Godwin chuckled, his horn bobbled in the light as a nighttime
rainbow danced on his ivory staff, reflecting off the ice. His eyes
squinted and he drew his thin lips into a tight smile. “As you can
see we are quite alive, filled as we are with the Holy Song of Truth.
If we be ghosts, then the seas best beware, be aware!”
“And this is good! And this is good,” the others chorused.
“It is time for all the truth to be known, time that all the words
be sung.” Murmured Godwin, his eyes foggy-veiled. Ponderously,
he began toning the litany, “In the beginning, all the world was dry-
side drenched in the darkness of the deep. ALL THAT IS RIGHT IN
THE WORLD smiled and the world was bathed in golden light.”
“This was good!” The Narwhals exclaimed.
Godwin, his pitch rising with fervor, continued, “Then, ALL
THAT IS RIGHT IN THE WORLD slapped his mighty tail upon the
heavens and caused the sands of the world to crash and explode,
ringing smoke-filled clouds around the world.”
“This was good!” the other whales chanted.
“ALL THAT IS RIGHT IN THE WORLD laughed in delight
at his creation, his tears of joy falling to the fiery dryside that
exploded in the heat of his passion creating billowing clouds of
steam. Again, he sang, and the cloud-filled skies burst, and the
rains fell and the world was filled with the essence of ALL THAT IS
RIGHT IN THE WORLD, the waters of life.”
“Yes! Yes!” the others chanted, enraptured by the words.
This was good!”
“And in the waters of life he made the fishes: Sharp-fin,
tuna-tail, wiggle-fin and all the other fishes, all were one in the sea.
And ALL THAT IS RIGHT IN THE WORLD continued creation for
a thousand tides, until the waters were filled to brimming with every
form of life.”
There was a pause, a beat, a measure, then, all sang, “This
was good!”
“ALL THAT IS RIGHT IN THE WORLD looked down on all
that he had created and smiled, for it was good. The smile turned
to laughter, and the laughter became thunder that rolled through the
darkness and golden light alike and in that moment there appeared
in the waters Mother Whale.”
All of the brethren Narwhal harmonized in a low hypnotic
murmur, “This was good, good, good!”
Godwin stretched his flukes in benediction and continued,
“And from this Mother Whale calved all the species of whale and
brethren: flipper-fin, dolphin and others. All the whales of the world
sang the same song and everything that was, filled the majesty of
that melody. Whales swam the seas without fear and we all sang
the same song, a song so strong that we were as one pod, and there
were no others.”
“And this was good! And this was right!”
“The water was clear and we thought we would and could see
forever. The waters surged and rolled about the world but there was
a wrongness coming for there were the others, those who belonged
to the waves and lolled at the surface and refused ever to come
to the deep. These creatures fed upon themselves in frenzy and
brought discord to the song, charging the waters with fear.”
In a break of harmonic, the Narwhal chorus sang with angry
strength, off-key and in staccato, “And that was not good!”
Godwin paused, enthralled with the engaging power in the
singing of the song. Ponderously, his rich voice continued, “In its
wisdom, ALL THAT IS RIGHT IN THE WORLD knew that there
must be balance in all things, and he caused the golden light to
burn hotly upon the seas and clouds were formed and the waters
were diminished. Then, there was formed by the receding sea the
very edge of the world, the dryside. ALL THAT IS RIGHT IN THE
WORLD listened as the song was being sung, and those that would
not sing the song were cast from the seas and damned to the dry-
side for all the tides to come–and they were called – – – sandwalkers.
For then and evermore, these sandwalkers stood up on spindly fins
and paraded along the wave-drenched shores, longing to return to
the sea.”
And the Narwhal in chorus sang, “Now the sea was again
right within itself. This was good!”
As the horned one called Godwin continued, the song took
on an ominous tone as the other Narwhal rose silently to the sur-
face and began to softly slap the waters with their flukes, in a coun-
terpoint rhythm, “But the sandwalkers were not content with all that
had been given to them, the dryside. They came to the edge of our
world, dragging hollowed shells. They floated their shells on the
sea and stood in them, brazenly free to skim upon the surface of
the waters of life and again bringing discord to the song.”
“And this was not good!” proclaimed the pod.
“The sandwalkers took from the sea but gave nothing back.
In the spirit, the love of the song and as directed by the Holy Song
of Truth we, the Narwhal, went to the sandwalkers as they floated
on the waters to sing to them in hopes of resurrecting their very
souls. With blank eyes and open mouths the sandwalkers stupidly
listened not understanding a word that was sung, nor were they able
even to hear the melody. Their deafness crazed them and in their
frenzy they attacked a Narwhal that floated close to their shells,
dragging her up onto one of the shells and beat at her with sticks
and their flimsy fins until she was dead. As the pod watched in hor-
ror the sandwalkers ripped the sacred horn from her head and used
the bloody stump to murder others. They killed all that they could
reach from the shell-sharks, and the seas ran red with the blood of
Narwhal.”
The pounding on the waters became louder and louder still as
they all sang, “This was not good!”
Godwin shook in rapture, equal anguish and rage, as he
bellowed, “An alarm was sounded to all the brethren warning of
the true ways of the sandwalker. Heeding our warning the brethren
swam into deeper waters away from the sandwalker. But, no matter
where they went, the spindly beasts followed killing all that it could
find. The Narwhal were not as fleet of fin and most all of the sacred
horned ones were murdered. The brethren, whales, dolphins and
flipper-fin, thought the Narwhal dead, but this was not true. A few
survived and sequestered themselves in this enclave of ice. It is
here that we have remained hidden, afraid to venture forth into the
world.”
The waves rolled crashing hollow on the icy walls around,
and I thought all was done, but Godwin continued and, if possible,
became angrier still.
“The sandwalkers were not content simply with the death
of the brethren of the sea. To add to this insult, they poured their
filthy offal into the waters and all that swam close to these evil
waters died or were changed into hideous forms. The waters nearby
filled with wrongness. ALL THAT IS RIGHT IN THE WORLD began
to cry bitter tears, and even this rain stung the skins of those who
ventured too close to the dryside.”
The song ended here, as these ivory-horned whales floated
silently rising and falling on the lifting waves. Godwin shook him-
self from his cloudy reverie and slowly floated to the surface. His
mouth twisted into a thin, oily smile and he whispered conspiratori-
ally, “We call upon you, as we have called upon others, to do your
part; gain us some measure of revenge. You now hold the secret.
You now can change the world forever.”
“Me?” I was very confused and little of what he said made
sense. “But what can I do? I am but a young whale not yet to
his prime.“ I asked. “What possibly could I do that would have
any effect?”
“Ahh!” Godwin murmured, looking back at the pod that wait-
ed expectantly, “there is a significant verse of the Song of the Sea,
a verse that few pods sing. It is this verse that the Song deals with
the cataclysm called the Conclave.” “Conclave?” I muttered not
knowing where this was going. “Yes, my young whale,” chuckled the
Narwhal, “the Conclave. Let me sing you the verse from the Holy
Song of Truth so better you may understand your part and measure
of the Song.” Again Godwin slipped beneath the surface and with
tail down he floated in the water, twisting his body from side-to-side
and began to chant, “Lo, one golden tide a sacred white whale will
be born, and this great whale will be special to all the Brethren of all
the seas.”
In unison the pod responded, “Let the world rejoice. Let the
whales sing.”
“This whale will live and learn of all things. There will come
a time in the sacred one’s life that he will find himself alone. He will
find himself holding song with no one to sing to. In this moment,
this time of soulful mourning this whale and this sacred whale alone
will have the right to call for a Conclave, a gathering of all the Breth-
ren here in the cool, crisp untainted waters at the top of the world,
where the blue ice drops into the bay. His verse calling for Conclave
will echo throughout the waters of the world carried by the melody
of the Song of the Sea. And they will come: flipper-fin, dolphin and
whale. Here in Conclave the sandwalker will finally be judged!”
“Let the world rejoice! Let the whales sing!”
“The verdict is predestined. There can be no other call. For,
in Conclave the sandwalkers will be damned for all the evil they have
done. Then and only then will all the Brethren be empowered to rid
this world of the beast that walks on the dryside!”
The pod of Narwhal chanted as one, “And this is good! And
this is meant to be!”
Godwin’s tail snapped down hard on the surface of the water
as he raged on, “And with that blessing we can freely kill the Sand-
walker without conscience as the sandwalker has killed us. Death
now to the sandwalkers and all that soil the sea! Death now to the
spindly-legged filth. Kill them! Kill them! Kill them!”
“Death! Death! Death!” the others chanted, the water froth-
ing as they all began to spin in spasms created by the passion of
their anger.
I trembled confused. “I have seen the sandwalker, and, al-
though in part they helped in the death of my friend Adagio, I have
seen no other evil you say they portend.”
Godwin continued in his sing-song voice, “Then I challenge
you to go swim all the waters of all the world and see all that you
must see to believe. When you have seen all there is to be seen you
will share this song. You too will join the quest. Soon all that sing
in the sea will join in chorus, a chorus that will celebrate the death
of the sandwalker. So speak I, Godwin the Avenger, he who sings
the Song of the Holy Truth.”
A light wispy mist danced upon the waters giving ghostly
pale to these horned whales that floated, rising and falling with the
gentle waves that rolled between the cliffs of ice. All that had been
sung numbed me to my very soul but my reverie was broken finally
by the voice of the avenger.
“Your family pod is beyond that shelf of ice.” Godwin twisted
his horn and pointed to the ice looming in the distance. “Dive deep,
my friend, and swim true, for our song is now part of your song. I
assure you this,” he whispered ominously, “we will meet again, you
and I. For our destinies are one.” With that, he slowly floated away
into the mist. I spun around. They were all gone, ghosts again in
the seas.