CHAPTER Five
Unnerved by what had transpired I dove beneath the crystal
islands of frost and rime. Once again, I surfaced some time later
thinking my lungs must burst. I was delighted to hear Cacopho-
ny’s groans and burps as he taunted, “Hey, kelp-breath, where
you been?”
Ignoring him, I sought out Tympani, the Scribe. I found him
listening at the far side of the pod. In a rush I sang to him my ad-
venture with the mystical Narwhal of the Horn, and only when I was
finished did I realize that others of the pod had gathered to listen to
my song.
“Tsk, tsk,” they sang, “poor Harmony must have bumped his
head on the ice, for everyone knows there are no Narwhal of the
Horn, they are but ghosts.” Chuckling a gentle song of sympathy,
they swam away, leaving me alone with the Scribe.
“The pod thinks I made that up? They think the Narwhal
only a delusion of my injured mind?” I mumbled.
Tympani was silent for a moment, obviously considering all
that I sang. “Somewhere in my memory of the song I remember a
vague verse that sings about a Conclave and a white whale who
would call for it. Not to worry, Harmony,” he consoled, “Though
you be white I greatly doubt that any of this has anything to do
with you. But to allay your fears somewhat, when I was your age
I chose to travel alone for a time. During that journey I was ac-
tually touched by a sandwalker and though it was not a pleasant
experience as you can see I am still alive. But as to your specific
dilemma, whether or not the Narwhal of the Horn are real or ghost
or whether you saw them at all is unimportant. As to the quest they
asked you to take, that is a journey that many young whales have
taken. Others before you like me have swum alone for a time to see
what they must see, and if you elect to seek your wisdom beyond
the pod, when finished with the journey you must return to me, so I
can add your travels to our song.” With that, Tympani left me alone
with my disquieted thoughts, as the colored lights from the top of
the world danced upon the sky.
After my meeting with the Narwhal, the pod began the long
swim back to the winter grounds and warmer waters. As we traveled
the other whales my age teased me from afar, calling me “the ghost
whale,” and would burst into bubbles of laughter if I joined them in a
collective hunt. I didn’t discuss the Narwhal with anyone, preferring
to wrestle alone with the reality or the lack of reality in what I had
seen. That did not stop me from allowing the delightful Melody to
closely examine my head for any sign of concussion or contusion.
Other than driving me to near distraction by her closeness, she
found nothing.
Were the Narwal real or had I dreamed them? V ery little cap-
tured my attention then, so occupied was I by what had or had not
happened. I had deliberated for some time and then, once again,
sought the wisdom of Tympani.
It took most of a tide to find him, for I was avoiding Cacoph-
ony who was in very foul spirits and nothing would cheer him more
than to pick up our fight where we had left off after the death of
Adagio. I finally found Tympani in the late golden light recording a
new passage to the song. As was the tradition, I waited patiently
and silently at his tail. When he finished, he turned and said, “I had
a feeling that you would soon seek me out.”
“I don’t mean to bother or extend a verse beyond its calling
but I continue to beleaguer this question of the Narwhal: Were they
real? Are there verses in our song that sings of the horned ones?”
Tympani paused as his mind raced through verse after verse
searching for all reference to the Narwhal. Finally, after some
time, he spoke, “Yes, my Harmony, there are many references to
the horned whale. It is sung that they were there at the beginning
when ALL THAT IS RIGHT IN THE WORLD created the sea and the
song. Their song became part of our song from the ghosting songs
of another pod. Therefore, it is not strong and may have been twisted
by the currents that flow. There is reference also, though very vague,
regarding the THOUSAND DEATHS OF THE SANDWALKER.”
“But,” I repeated, “is it true? Are they real? Did I have this
experience or was it indeed some kind of delusion?”
This wise, gentle whale mused a bit and then sang again.
“Whether it was delusion, dream, or reality matters not. Sometimes
dreams appear as reality. But one can learn from both, and both are
equally important.”
That statement spun my mind in a dizzying eddy. Dreams
that were reality? Reality that was dream? I persisted. “Are the
Narwhal real?”
“Harmony,” he patiently continued, “all that you sang was
true. The Narwhal were among the first of the whales. They chose
to make contact with the early sandwalkers that did for the second
time venture into the sea on shell-sharks. But it is sung in the song
that they were all killed. None of them lived. They are no more,
forever. They are thought of only as the Ghosts.”
I left feeling more confused than before, more questions
having been created than answered. For nearly a tide I float-
ed alone far to the side of the pod mulling all that I knew and
thought I knew. Still more questions were being generated than
were being answered.
Finally, with a flip of my tail I shook off my lethargy and
resolutely swam to my mother, Rhapsody, whom I had not visited
in many tides. She was swimming in the midst of others, sunning
on the surface, warmed in these cold waters by the goodness of
the sun.
“Mother, I have chosen to accept the Narwal challenge, to
swim in different seas to seek answers to questions that fill my mind
with confusion. I wish to carry your blessing, a bit of your song,
with me as a charm to protect me from the new.”
Her beautiful eyes blinked as she looked at me in her gentle
way. I had thought, perhaps hoped, that she would try to dissuade
me, to convince me that all was folly, but I was to be disappointed.
“Harmony,” she sang, “you must always seek the truth in that which
surrounds you, and if truth is not there, then seek it out wherever it
may be. Carry this bit of song and be not gone long, I love you.”
I then sought Melody and when I found her, I excitedly told
her of my decision to go alone into the seas and search for the
truth. Other young whales gathered around, eyes wide in the ex-
citement of my journey.
My enthusiastic ramblings were interrupted soon enough by
the belching of Cacophony as he bullied his way through the other
whales to where I swam with Melody. “Well, bubble-breath, what’s
this I hear about your leaving?”
I repeated the intent of my journey. I was shocked that
Cacophony didn’t immediately sing that it was stupid. He floated
nearby, studying me slowly with those careful predator eyes of his.
He said nothing for a moment or two as our eyes coldly locked —
always in combat. This time, though, he saw my resolve, and he
blinked first. Embarrassed, he slapped me with his mighty fluke and
laughingly said, “Well, good luck, fish bait. You’ll need it. Someday
I will eat of your flesh second hand in the belly of a large sharp-fin.”
With a massive splash, he dove and was gone.
I turned my thoughts once again to Melody, “Well, I guess I
had better go,” I said, stumbling for the right thing to say and the
right way to say it. Unfortunately, my hopes for a poetic good-bye
were dashed as a swell lifted our two bodies together. The touch
was beyond sensual, it was ecstasy, and she did move away. Flus-
tered, I muttered, “Uh, eat lots of fish.”
My snappy repartee must have caught her off guard. She
laughed and sang in her sweet voice, “You, too, my Harmony.
You, too!”
With that miserable farewell, I swam away from the pod and
out to sea. It was odd but in the distance, faint but still recogniz-
able, I thought I saw another whale, a pale-skinned with a twisted
horn, Godwin! I swam toward the shape, but it quickly turned and
disappeared. Already I was seeing things. This journey will do me
good; cleanse the ghosts from my mind.
The pod song surrounded me for some time, but little by
little, it faded until it was nothing more than a gentle echo and then,
it, too, was gone. I was alone. It is odd how alone you really feel
when you leave that which you have become so accustomed to.
Big becomes bigger.
I swam, feeding as the need arose, for the seas were rich and
I exalted in the adventure. I swam for three tides and far into anoth-
er before I realized I didn’t know exactly where I was going. I was
looking for answers. I was seeking the sandwalker to verify or vilify
the truth of the Narwhal. But where were the sandwalkers? Logic
prevailed and I decided the best course was to swim nearer to the
dryside, where surely I would find answers.
I swam through light and dark, and dark and light, until my
eyes blurred with exhaustion. Finally, on the twelfth tide, I found a
shell-shark, the bearer of sandwalkers; or rather it nearly found me.
I had just breached from the deep after feeding and was allowing
the sun to soak warmth into my body, when from behind, a squeaky
voice laughed out in the sing-song fashion. “Out of the way. Out of
the way. Sandwalkers come looking for fun and they can’t seem to
find their way.”
I spun quickly in the water, and there was a shell-shark bear-
ing down, white froth pushing at its nose. I sank into the safety of
the deep, my heart pounding in my ears. “Where was the warning-
-the hum, the song that is not a song–that flows with every shell-
shark I have seen?” I questioned out loud.
I was rattled to my very soul when the squeaky voice an-
swered, “This shell-shark is silent. It is called a creaker and it fol-
lows the wind” I looked for the source of the voice and was shocked
to see a small whale-like creature before me. Bigger than a tuna-tail,
smaller than the large sharp-fins, it floated like a dream, squeaking
its silly songs.
“What are you?” I asked. “You nearly sing the whale song,
but you are not whale. What are you?”
“Hmmm,” it gigglingly sang, “What are I? Well, I are not
sandwalker. I are not whale. If I are not these things, then I must
be dolphin.” With that, he quickly swam towards me and stopped
just inches from my eye. “My name is Little Brother. And that,”
he said turning, indicating yet another dolphin swimming quickly
towards us, “is my mate, Laughter Ring.”
“I am called Harmony,” I sang as deeply as I could, trying to
put some decorum to this chance meeting, “I have come seeking
wisdom about the sandwalker. What is your purpose, dolphin?”
“Our purpose, whale, is to lead the way before yonder creaker.”
“But why?” I asked.
“Why? You, of all creatures, ask, ‘Why?’” he laughed. “Be-
cause if we didn’t lead the way, yonder creaker would run over dumb
whales like you. Besides, the sandwalkers that ride in the creaker
make us laugh and that my friend is a good thing.”
My back arched with the sting of the insult. “I have never
been thought of as dumb, Little Brother,” I grumbled angrily. “Best
watch who you speak to so flippantly.”
“Flippantly?” he laughed. “Flippantly? If you wish, great
whale, I shall flippantly flick my flipping flappers and fly.” He slipped
beneath the waters and then leaped across my back not once,
not twice, but thrice. I was becoming very angry, and the thought
crossed my mind of whether or not this dolphin would make a
filling meal.
“He means no harm,” giggled Laughter Ring, his mate, as
she glided to where I floated. “He means only to make you smile
and laugh at all the fun that spreads smoothly across the sea like
bits of foam after a storm.”
I calmed myself. After all, I had been called much worse by
Cacophony. With my composure regained, I looked at the dolphins
and asked, “You say that the sandwalkers make you laugh. How
can that be? I have seen them in their shell-sharks before, and in
their wake I have only found death and destruction.”
“Oh, ‘tis true,” spoke Little Brother as he again took over the
dialog. “Most of the sandwalkers are evil to their very salty core,
but some are fun, and many, in their simple way, bring joy to me.
Look, even as we sing, they turn their lumbering shell to follow us.”
I looked, and as Little Brother had said, the creaker was turn-
ing and heading our way. I started to dive deep but was stopped by
the dolphin, “Fear not, my friend. They will not hurt you. They are
curious and love to touch all they see in the sea.”
I was horrified, “You would allow them to touch you?”
“Yup,” said he, “It doesn’t hurt, and besides, it kind of tickles.”
Not to be outdone by a tiny dolphin, but with much trepida-
tion, I stayed still in the water and waited and watched. After all, I
was on this journey to seek the truth, and the truth in part was float-
ing my way. If I died, so be it.
I studied in morbid fascination this silent shell-shark the
likes of which I had never seen before. It was the same, yet different
for this shell had vast sheets of white strung across the shell. As
I watched, I could see for the first time sandwalkers scurrying like
crabs about the top to draw the kelp sheets down.
The creaker slid quietly to us and I waited expectantly. The
dolphins began cavorting in the water, dancing on their tails and
the like. After a time, they tired of this and swam back to me. “The
sandwalkers care not for us today. They are more entertained to
look at you, great white whale. Go to them; feel their strange dry
skin upon your flesh.”
Challenged by this pip-squeak of a dolphin, I nervously
moved close to the shell and cast my eye upon the creatures above.
They were strange looking, with thin wisps of sea grass waving on
their heads. Their fins were thin and their bodies were covered in
odd-colored scales.
I waited, rolling in the surf, not knowing whether I would be
tickled or stabbed with a mighty horn of the Narwhal. Fortunate-
ly, one of the sandwalkers reached a flimsy fin down and touched
my side above my eye. I blinked in fear, but nothing happened. If
anything, there was a gentleness about the stroking. I listened and
could barely hear above the wind that blew these strange creatures
almost singing to themselves. “Maybe they too have a song,” I
sang, “but it is an odd song without depth. Possibly, if I took them
to the deep, they would be able to sing with more strength.”
Little Brother and Laughter Ring rolled in the sea, bathing
me in gales of laughter. “I think not, my friend. They know not how
to hold their breath.”
We stayed beside the creaker for a great time as I saw all that
I could see, and finally I called to my new friends, “I must leave. For
this is perplexing. The Narwhal of the Horn told me that the sand-
walker brings death to the waters of life. Now I find that they are
not so bad and so I will just go back to my pod and add this to our
Song of the Sea.”
I turned to go but was stopped by the dolphins. “Ah,” said
Laughter Ring surprisingly serious, “all the sandwalkers are not as
these. Some–and most–do bring death.”
“Then,” I continued, “I must seek them out, wherever they
may be. For I have many answers given to me by the Narwhal that
have need of questions to be asked.”
“Well,” laughed the dolphins, “we shall guide you if you will
have us. For we have traveled far and we have seen what you seek.”
Before I could answer, with a flip of their tails, they were off leading
the way. I turned once and looked back at the shell-shark and the
sandwalkers it bore. It was odd, but as I swam away one of the crea-
tures waved a fin, almost as if to say good-bye. Maybe they do carry
a song.
With this thought to carry me on my journey, I strongly
surged after my newly acquired guides to the sea and new songs to
be sung.