CHAPTER NINE<\/p>\n
I remembered nothing for a tide or tides, I know not which. I<\/p>\n
stirred as one waking from a frightful sleep. I stretched and my body<\/p>\n
ached. I looked around and found that I was close to the breakers<\/p>\n
but a short way from the shore. I listened, but there was no song.<\/p>\n
I knew that what I had hoped I had dreamed, was real. I was alone<\/p>\n
with the memory of the Song of the Sea.<\/p>\n
The memory.<\/p>\n
Of all that is holy, the memory!<\/p>\n
The pod was dead!<\/p>\n
My mind was flooded with memory. The delights, the laugh-<\/p>\n
ter, the fears. To remember was to ache with such gut-wrenching<\/p>\n
pain that to think was effort, not worth the price. I twisted in my<\/p>\n
own sea of guilt as I wondered the impact of my singing of the<\/p>\n
Narwhal song. I agonized my journey and the singing of that song.<\/p>\n
How much of all of this was my own responsibility? How much guilt<\/p>\n
was mine truly earned? How deep was my conceit at the wonder<\/p>\n
of the song. How hollow is a song when there is no one to sing it<\/p>\n
to? Now, being Scribe was not an honor. Now, being Scribe was<\/p>\n
charged with the horrible prospect of passing this hideous ritual on<\/p>\n
to another pod, as it had been passed on to us. Others–and still<\/p>\n
others–would die, and like those interwoven nets of kelp, it would<\/p>\n
keep building until all the seas would be silent forever.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo!\u201d I screamed, \u201cThis will end with me. This will end for-<\/p>\n
ever here. I will join the others in their futility, rather than take the<\/p>\n
chance that this song might be sung again.\u201d<\/p>\n
Slowly, I turned my back to the sea and rushed to the dry-<\/p>\n
side. I began to sing of recrimination. I was the one who returned<\/p>\n
from the journey and passed on the hatred of the sandwalker. I was<\/p>\n
the one who had listened to the dreams of the Narwhal and passed<\/p>\n
on their vengeance to the pod.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe pod. The pod.\u201d I cried again and again. Then, with the<\/p>\n
speaking of the word, came fresh memory anew, and like a sharp-fin,<\/p>\n
it ripped at my heart and devoured my soul.<\/p>\n
\u201cMelody and Progeny, my own sweet mother, Rhapsody, all<\/p>\n
are dead,\u201d I wailed, and the tears blurred my vision of purpose so<\/p>\n
that I could not see. A wave lifted me higher and threw me closer to<\/p>\n
the shore and to the end I so desperately sought. The coral sand<\/p>\n
began to scrape along my belly; still I fought higher and higher, up<\/p>\n
the land shelf into the dryside. Finally, I could swim no more and<\/p>\n
was beached like a monstrous log in the land of the sandwalkers.<\/p>\n
With a calmness that belied my spirit, I sang of other days.<\/p>\n
I sang loudly so the Song of the Sea would be carried on the winds<\/p>\n
of the dryside, and all the sandwalkers could hear what I had done,<\/p>\n
what they had done, what we all had done to the world. I sang of<\/p>\n
destruction. I sang of the lives lost and the friends departed. I<\/p>\n
waited for the end . . . the beginning.<\/p>\n
As I lay there, prepared for death and embroiled in my own<\/p>\n
self-pity, I felt a biting, a pulling at my tail. \u201cOdd,\u201d thought I, \u201cal-<\/p>\n
ready the feathered-furies are pulling at my flesh.\u201d But what mon-<\/p>\n
strous feathered-furies! These strange furies not only pulled at me,<\/p>\n
they yanked. I felt myself being scraped backward. The oddity of<\/p>\n
this event momentarily snapped me from my private wake, for no<\/p>\n
feathered fury could pull a whale back to the sea. What was hap-<\/p>\n
pening? \u201cAh, no matter,\u201d I mused out loud. \u201cIt matters not at all<\/p>\n
whether it is a feathered fury, or a great sharp-fin pulling me into the<\/p>\n
sea as a meal. It matters not, for the song is dead.\u201d<\/p>\n
Suddenly, my self-pitying reverie was broken by excited<\/p>\n
chitterings and a voice that sang from out of the past, \u201cYou blub-<\/p>\n
ber-brain. Help us for pity\u2019s sake!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHelp us? Help who?\u201d I asked deliriously.<\/p>\n
I heard my own words being mimicked like an echo gone bad,<\/p>\n
\u201cHelp us? Help who? Help me? Help you? Come on, flounder<\/p>\n
butt, help yourself.\u201d My brain was fogged with grief, but still and all,<\/p>\n
echoes don\u2019t add to words spoken. Echoes don\u2019t speak in squeaky<\/p>\n
voices. Then the voices were remembered — Little Brother and<\/p>\n
Laughter Ring.<\/p>\n
\u201cLet me die!\u201d I cried. \u201cThe song is silent, and the pod is<\/p>\n
dead!\u201d I pulled from their grasp and once again began inching my<\/p>\n
way back up the shore, but once again I was held short of my goal.<\/p>\n
\u201cBy all things that are holy, let me die! For all is lost!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot quite all,\u201d shouted Little Brother, yanking me rudely again<\/p>\n
toward the sea. \u201cFor out there wait the children that you saved. Did<\/p>\n
you save them only to let them die of neglect and confusion?\u201d<\/p>\n
I paused in my struggle, and far out to sea I could hear the<\/p>\n
gentle, tiny squeaks of the babies. All in the pod were not dead.<\/p>\n
I remembered in a rush that in my madness to break the spell of<\/p>\n
death I had pushed several young calves back to the deep. Now,<\/p>\n
with no one to guide them, they floated and called to the parents<\/p>\n
that could not hear.<\/p>\n
But obstinacy is born of pride, and I shook their simple<\/p>\n
songs from my ears and would not listen. \u201cNo!\u201d I bellowed. \u201cI am<\/p>\n
whale, and my destiny is to die as the others before.\u201d<\/p>\n
Suddenly, my friends from long ago let go. \u201cFine,\u201d taunted<\/p>\n
Laughter Ring, \u201cand the Narwhal are right as they sing. But what<\/p>\n
happens when there are no more whales? What happens when all<\/p>\n
the whales have cast themselves upon the shore? Do you think the<\/p>\n
sandwalker will feel your protest after you are gone? No! They will<\/p>\n
push your fat, rotting carcass back to the sea or better still, leave it<\/p>\n
where it lies. Then they will quickly forget and continue their ruin-<\/p>\n
ation of the world.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut,\u201d I protested weakly, \u201cI have carried out my responsibili-<\/p>\n
ty. I have sung the song.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s a floating pool of carp crap, and you know it,\u201d<\/p>\n
snapped Little Brother. \u201cWho do you sing to as you die? Do you<\/p>\n
sing to the children, so they can continue this madness? Or do you<\/p>\n
sing to the sandwalker? There is good reason why the sandwalk-<\/p>\n
er does not sing the Song of the Sea. For how can you sing that<\/p>\n
which you cannot hear?\u201d<\/p>\n
I froze in my undulations to reach the dryside. I paused.<\/p>\n
Perhaps they were right. The sandwalker does not sing our song,<\/p>\n
and we, the whale, can\u2019t sing his. With a sigh breathed deep, I ex-<\/p>\n
haled all that was wrong with my soul and began slowly to turn back<\/p>\n
to the sea.<\/p>\n
I flipped and flopped, helping my friends to extricate me from<\/p>\n
the shore, and slowly inched my painful way from the sands of the<\/p>\n
dryside. The salty waters of life burned my wounds but, all in all,<\/p>\n
soothed my dry skin. As my wounds tingled with the sharp bite<\/p>\n
of healing, I dropped into the deep to soothe that tortured melody<\/p>\n
echoing in my mind. My little friends let me be while I mused my<\/p>\n
situation. The children must learn the Song of the Sea, and from<\/p>\n
its singing change would come. All must learn the song, not only<\/p>\n
whale but flipper-fin and dolphin. All of the waters of life must sing<\/p>\n
the same, not bits of melody here and there.<\/p>\n
While there, on the bottom of the world as I knew it, I found<\/p>\n
answers that had never been questioned. For there was a way to<\/p>\n
protest the sandwalker. There was a way to remove the sandwalker<\/p>\n
for all time from the sea. Exalted with rebirth and buoyant with the<\/p>\n
spirit that has made the whale strong for all of time, I breached. For<\/p>\n
the first time, for the last time, I breached for the life of all living<\/p>\n
creatures in the sea.<\/p>\n
Sustained by the new life within me and aided by my dear<\/p>\n
friends, we searched for the children of tomorrow. We found them<\/p>\n
not far from shore, confused and so alone. There were seven in<\/p>\n
all. They sang to us for guidance. They asked for the song, and<\/p>\n
they asked for food. Fortunately, all but one of them had tried the<\/p>\n
first taste of fish and needed not their mothers\u2019 milk. Little Brother,<\/p>\n
Laughter Ring, and I swam ourselves ragged, hunting fish and re-<\/p>\n
turning to feed the hungry mouths that waited, still in shock from all<\/p>\n
they had seen but settled by normalcy of eating.<\/p>\n
Though we tried to feed the littlest one, she was so dis-<\/p>\n
traught she would not eat the fish we offered and cried fitfully for the<\/p>\n
warmth of her mother\u2019s milk. \u201cWhat are we to do?\u201d I asked of the<\/p>\n
others, \u201cI can soothe the young ones with the song and feed them<\/p>\n
with the fish, but this little one I can do nothing for.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt has been done before,\u201d Laughter Ring said quietly. \u201cWe<\/p>\n
are both of the family of the sea. I will nurse the young one until<\/p>\n
she can be taught to eat the fish. It may not be much, but it will<\/p>\n
have to do.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s ridiculous,\u201d snorted Little Brother. \u201cYou can\u2019t nurse<\/p>\n
another unless you are with child.\u201d He paused and looked foolishly<\/p>\n
at his mate. \u201cAre you? Are we with child?\u201d<\/p>\n
Laughter Ring laughed true to her name, \u201cI don\u2019t know about<\/p>\n
you, but I am. If you haven\u2019t noticed these last many tides, I have<\/p>\n
been growing large with child.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sure enough, I now noticed that Laughter Ring was filled with<\/p>\n
child, and it was easy to see that she would have little trouble nurs-<\/p>\n
ing a young one, even a whale.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut, but,\u201d stuttered Little Brother, \u201cI thought you were just<\/p>\n
getting a little fat. I mean, I thought you were eating a bit more<\/p>\n
than I …\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHmm,\u201d muttered laughter Ring, as she sought out the child.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou and I shall talk of this another time. Fatter indeed.\u201d<\/p>\n
Later, when the silverside replaced the golden light with its<\/p>\n
silvered reflections, we fed ourselves. Sated, we dozed, rocking<\/p>\n
on the now gentle seas. I would sleep for a time, and then wake<\/p>\n
abruptly, thinking I had heard Melody\u2019s song calling to me from the<\/p>\n
dryside. After listening for a time and hearing only the gentle rush<\/p>\n
of the waves falling on the sea, I would fall back into my fitful sleep.<\/p>\n
For many tides we moved the small pod around in no partic-<\/p>\n
ular direction, as all seemed to wait for some decision from me as<\/p>\n
to a call to action. What they didn\u2019t know then and know now, is<\/p>\n
that I didn\u2019t know what to do. The dream of the Narwhal had filled<\/p>\n
my mind with such narcissism as to my importance, that I couldn\u2019t<\/p>\n
make a decision, thinking somehow that the fate of the Song of the<\/p>\n
Sea rested solely in my wake. I had begun spending more and more<\/p>\n
time alone, forcing the two dolphins to care for the calves alone, no<\/p>\n
mean task, indeed. It was on one of these reflective sojourns that I<\/p>\n
had yet another mysterious chat with the mystical ghosts of the sea,<\/p>\n
the Narwhal.<\/p>\n
I had been in a deep dive and was actually due to breach, to<\/p>\n
fill my straining lungs with air when I heard Godwin\u2019s voice. \u201cWhy<\/p>\n
do you wait, white whale? Why do you wait?\u201d<\/p>\n
I spun around in the water, looking for the source of the sing-<\/p>\n
er. In the distance I thought I saw the faded image of Godwin the<\/p>\n
Avenger, tail down in the water. I tried to focus on the visage but the<\/p>\n
more I concentrated the more faint the image became. Sure that I<\/p>\n
was still hallucinating, I called out \u201cYou! Why do you haunt me so?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou are the salvation. We cannot wait, Godwin called out.<\/p>\n
The sandwalker has taken all from you. It has taken your moth-<\/p>\n
er, your lover, your life. The prophesy has been fulfilled. You are<\/p>\n
alone. There is no one for you to sing to. Call for the gathering.<\/p>\n
Call for the Conclave. Let all the brethren sit in judgment of the<\/p>\n
sandwalker. It is you and you alone who can bring us together.\u201d<\/p>\n
And then, as suddenly as he appeared, Godwin disappeared.<\/p>\n
Lungs straining, I breached. I floated there, rocking softly on the<\/p>\n
gentle waves that moved tirelessly to the dryside, to the sandwalker.<\/p>\n
I was decided.<\/p>\n
I rushed back to Laughter Ring and Little Brother and as the<\/p>\n
young calves slept I sang, \u201cThe Narwhal are right in the sharing of<\/p>\n
their wisdom, but they are so wrong in how they teach it. They hide<\/p>\n
within their frozen crystal walls and give gifts of hate to any whale<\/p>\n
that happens by, and, one by one, the whale is disappearing. The<\/p>\n
Narwhal could do no better if they all gave their twisted horns to the<\/p>\n
sandwalker, so that they could kill even more of us in the seas. A<\/p>\n
new song must be sung. Not a song sung by just a single pod of<\/p>\n
whale, here or there, but all in one massive chorus. I call for a Con-<\/p>\n
clave, the greatest meeting of all the brethren of the sea.\u201d<\/p>\n
There followed a faint echo from afar, \u201cAnd that is good!\u201d<\/p>\n
At first I thought it was again my imagination, the on-going<\/p>\n
hallucination, but I was wrong. The two dolphins turned to the<\/p>\n
sound also, and although it was faint, they, too, heard it. The Nar-<\/p>\n
whal or at least one was somewhere in the nearby seas. \u201cSo, the<\/p>\n
ghosts do move beyond their enchanted chambers,\u201d I muttered.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat did you sing?\u201d asked Little Brother.<\/p>\n
\u201cNothing,\u201d I murmured. \u201cNothing. Draw yourself near. It is<\/p>\n
time that I pass to you the entire Song of the Sea.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo!\u201d said Laughter Ring, as she backed away, her eyes<\/p>\n
opened in horror. \u201cI will not listen. There is no way that I will let<\/p>\n
you sing the song and die!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThere is no fear of my throwing my life to the dryside and<\/p>\n
the sandwalker. No, I propose to share the song as it was meant to<\/p>\n
be shared. No one, whale or brethren, should hold the song alone.<\/p>\n
The song is to be shared and with that I began to sing: This, then,<\/p>\n
is my singing of the Song of the Sea.. I was born some seventy-five<\/p>\n
hundred tides ago, in a time when the waters and life were mirror<\/p>\n
smooth. Before my birth, in\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
I sang it all, leaving out nothing. When I was done, the dol-<\/p>\n
phins\u2019 eyes were wide with wonder. \u201cBy all that is holy,\u201d whispered<\/p>\n
Little Brother, as he twisted and turned, \u201cI never would have thought<\/p>\n
any song could be so long.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOr beautiful,\u201d sighed Laughter Ring.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt is the history of the world that you now share.\u201d I sang,<\/p>\n
\u201cGo, go my friends. Call your pod of dolphins together, and tell<\/p>\n
them of the Conclave. Send them out to the waters of the world and<\/p>\n
each one of that group shall go to another and yet another group,<\/p>\n
tell them all of the Conclave. Call to the flipper-fin and the great-<\/p>\n
backed whale. Call to the blue and the bowhead. We shall all meet<\/p>\n
in five-hundred tides near the crystal walls of the Narwhal of the<\/p>\n
Horn.\u201d<\/p>\n
And with that, I gathered the young calves around and began<\/p>\n
moving up the world to meet my destiny, the Conclave.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
CHAPTER NINE I remembered nothing for a tide or tides, I know not which. I stirred as one waking from a frightful sleep. I stretched and my body ached. I looked around and found that I was close to the breakers but a short way from the shore. I listened, but there was no song. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":{"0":"post-1338","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-uncategorized","7":"entry"},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1338","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1338"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1338\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1339,"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1338\/revisions\/1339"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1338"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1338"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1338"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}