Blood In The Water

The taste and smell of his people's blood filled his gills and nostrils. It was strong enough to be nauseating. It wasn't unknown for them to cannibalize each other when the fisheries weren't doing well, but the extent of this made him feel ill, even as he fought his way to consciousness. The stories said the god Killing Wave had warned them it might be like this when they arrived at… wherever they were.

Gentle Current, like the rest of his people, had been born in The Sphere, an enormous ball of metal filled with water from their people's origin waters. The stories said the gods of their people, including Killing Wave, had warned them those waters would be destroyed. The gods had formed The Sphere and taught their people how to survive inside. The fisheries were part of that, as well as talking around or to the algae that grew on every surface.

There were currents here, strange ones tasting more wild than those in The Sphere. He could feel them drawing at his fins in the way the centrifuge at the center of The Sphere did. The currents there were dangerous. Young plekines, before their longer fins had developed enough for adult communication, had been sucked against the protective vents and needed help to escape it. A few had even been stuck there long enough to be killed or permanently damaged.

He fought that drawing current while lighting up his fins in patterns of both distress and query. He was hurt—not badly, but he knew he'd wear scars—and he couldn't smell if anyone else was nearby though all the blood. If anyone was hurt worse, he might be able to help them. He still had his pouch of fishbone needles and some thread spun from the fibers of golden algae. He could stitch another Fißalitæ's wounds. He would need to find cleaner waters before attempting his own, and he would need help. He couldn't reach the one next to his dorsal fin, on the left.

A distant light flared, also flashing distress and query. He swam closer, trying not to open his wounds further. Just trying to swim at all was agony. That he swam by many recognizable pieces of Fißalitæ did not help his nausea. Bits of fin, part of an arm… He hoped there were no larger predators here. He did not feel able to defend himself.

He arrived at the source of light and found a young female with long fins barely long enough for adult communication and a male plekine too small to fight the current without her help and only capable of movement communication. His light nodes would not grow in until he was older. The plekine was bleeding badly from a gash on his tail. The young female had a deep gash on her left arm and one fin was torn. She flashed distress again and added the movement for aid needed, clinging to a rock protruding from the depths.

He swam closer and quickly assessed that the waters here were clean enough to stitch the plekine. The risk of infection would be smaller than where he had been. He worked quickly—the plekine's movements were getting weaker—and stitched the gash on his tail closed. He'd probably be much a weaker swimmer than he should be… It would be wise for him to swim farther away from these currents.

Gentle Current stitched the female's arm and started to swim over to her fin when she moved away, flashing the pattern for saving for the future. He understood. He didn't know if any golden algae had survived, much less when he would find more or a replacement. He offered her the needle, going painfully through the movement for aid needed. She stitched the gash near his dorsal fin and another near the bottom of his tail he hadn't noticed as he held the plekine steady. They both looked at the ones on his arms and flashed the pattern of saving for the future.

She flashed amusement and he reflected it back.

The plekine motioned towards another distant light and motioned inquiry. Gentle Current motioned agreement and the three of them moved towards it together. The stitches in his back slowed him down, but his companions could not move any faster. Watching the plekine carefully, he slowed further. He didn't want to the youngster to pull any stitches… They probably didn't have any thread to waste.

The next light turned out to be a very young male spawnling, still young enough to be glowing entirely, being held by a female plekine a little older than than the one he'd already stitched, clinging to another protrusion. The waters here were somewhat calmer, likely farther from the source of the stronger current. Neither of them appeared to be hurt, although the spawnling was clearly hungry, snapping curiously at the water around him as though expecting fish to appear.

Gentle Current looked around. They were farther out of the cloud of blood now, but visibility was still dim. The Sphere crashing into the ocean floor had sent up silt. He could see no more glow in this murky water. He turned to the others, pulsing the pattern for other Fißalitæ and motioning inquiry. The younger Fißalitæ, except the spawnling, looked around and then motioned negative. For a long moment, none of them moved except to fight the current.

Then Gentle Current motioned towards where he could feel the calmer waters. They would need rest and time to heal. He was too exhausted to go much farther, and he was older than the others. They would need rest too. He could search the waters around the wild current drawing him to dangerous waters for other survivors when he was better rested, more healed.

They swam through the deeps, passing schools of unknown small fish. He caught a few of these and gave them to the spawnling, who ate them happily. The plekine and young female caught some as well, eating them with relish despite their diminutive size. He couldn't seem to work up the appetite, lost in thought as he was.

Fißalitæ had always been territorial and singular in their home waters, according to the legends. Killing Wave and their other gods had warned them that to survive in this new place, they would need to work together. The ways of their people could not be solitary. The elders had thought that meant only in The Sphere, but he had never been certain of that. Now, he was even less so.

He had to believe there were more of his people who had survived. Perhaps some would die while he needed to rest, but some would live. He would need to find them. He would need to be certain as many Fißalitæ stayed together, worked together, lived together, as possible. There was still so much blood in the water… How many still lived? Was it enough for their species to survive? Five was too small a number, he was almost certain.

A lull, almost an eddy, caught his attention to the left. He directed a change of course towards it and the others followed. The eddy turned out to be a hollow spot in a large projection that shot up in the water above his ability to see. They swam into it, finding it larger inside than expected. The male plekine swam to the side of it and immediately started to sleep swim. The female plekine held out the spawnling towards him and, after he took him, joined the male.

The young female inspected every inch of the hollow, then swam to where he was still holding the spawnling in a daze. She flashed the pattern for sorrow, the red and green and white reflecting on the walls, floor, and ceiling. Then she motioned inquiry.

He thought about it for a moment, then flashed the patterns for emotional numbness and pain, the reds and yellows bleeding into blue and purple.

She hesitated, then laid her webbed hand on his arm, her touch gentle.

He touched his other hand to hers, then flashed the patterns for sleep.

She motioned agreement, gestured to take the spawnling, and swam to join the plekine.

He watched them sleep for a time, then swam to the opening of the hollow, smelling and tasting the water. There was less blood here. What there still was smelled distant and from the direction of the wild currents. He could smell the other four Fißalitæ with him, but if there were others nearby, the smell was masked by the blood.

He was so tired. The stitched gash by his dorsal fin pained him, prickling and pulling with each movement. He needed to rest as well, to sleep swim… What if these waters weren't safe? The impact of The Sphere had killed most of his people, but what if others had been lost to unknown predators? Someone needed to protect these younger Fißalitæ…

He didn't have a weapon. He didn't have the energy. He was being foolish.

He swam to the others and put himself between them and the opening. His fins, full grown and long enough to billow around him as he swam, brushed over them as he slowly forced himself to relax. The gentle, reassuring feeling of their presence lulled him into his sleep swim and he finally, finally, slept.