Neither River Nor Rain
by Brandon Nolta
He is a writer, editor, and professional curmudgeon living in the transportation-challenged wilds of north Idaho. His fiction and poetry have appeared in Stupefying Stories, The Pedestal Magazine, Every Day Fiction, Uncanny Magazine, and a cacophony of other publications. His novel Iron and Smoke was published by Montag Press in 2015; his second book, a collection of short fiction called These Shadowed Stars, escaped in 2020.
The tide rises, and we may yet be free, if the world doesn’t collapse upon us. I cannot be sure. My days beyond these rocks are long past, and I no longer understand mortal waters as I did. But you, my fellow captive, you I understand.
Even as you gaze upon me from the deep, I know you, who drink the sea thrice each day, must feel the changes to come. When you sing at night, long and low through the depths, your understanding rumbles my bones as the water warms and the jellyfish teem, even into the thinning fold imprisoning us.
I feel your thirst’s deep bellow through the atoms of the water, up the bones of the earth, and into my ragged black talons upon the rocks. Across the choppy sea, the first signs of your long inhale appear. Since the folding, no ships pass through this strait, no screaming men to sate our hunger, so only I am privileged to watch.
The sea dimples, and the waves become scything arcs of foam. Water falls, spins, and a dimple becomes a pit, roaring foam and sea rending the air. I stretch my necks to their limit, waiting. Soon the maelstrom reaches its greatest depth, and…there. For a moment, your great baleful eye rolls and focuses. Your gaze brushes me like sunlight. Every scale of my necks expands.
Too soon, the roaring fades as the whirlpool ends, curse sated. Water covers you again, and we are alone on different sides of the sea. Did the gods foresee this torment? I doubt the witch who poisoned my bath knew; jealousy alone was her motive. Yours, however…I feel he crafted vengeance from his lightning throne with an extra sting to the tail, as it were. He knew your heart.
Not that it matters. All the gods are vanished, and should the fold collapse before we are ready, we will be, too. That may happen anyway; magic is fickle. For now, your thirst is quiet, and the worldfold shimmers out of reach. The seas of man are empty, although a large merchant ship can be seen weighing on the horizon.
I rehearse the spell, dredged over centuries from my curse-corroded memory, and wait. Tides roll and ebb, and the merchant ship approaches the fold, great metal boxes lashed to its deck. From the seafloor, I feel a tremble. I know the need is upon you.
A gentle flow of energy dances across my skin as the ship nears the outer fold. I begin the chant, ancient words strong in a dozen throats, my curse’s deformity finally favoring me. The sailors and their machines perceive nothing, but the first parting of the worldfold is a cool breeze on my scales.
There. If the sailors paid attention to the sea beyond their instruments, they could see the change in light as their bow passes the worldfold. The spell is working, but I dare not stop. All my effort is needed to keep the breach open, as it takes all yours to restrain the thirst. My voices shake, then steady. Ponderously the bow moves toward you, and the spell gains strength.
Finally, the ship completely enters the fold. The spell ends.
I clatter my talons against the rocks and roar.
Your thirst opens the sea. Foam deepens into the first arcs of the whirlpool, and a klaxon sounds across the water. Slowly, the ship tacks to port, away from your skirling curse. Toward me.
I trudge to the edge of the rocks. My prison has no shore, but we have spent centuries exploring every space afforded us, and I know how far I can go before being driven back. Careful observation tells me the ship will approach just within reach of my longest necks.
Your vortex widens, and the klaxon continues to ring. Crouched down, I see painted railings pass by, inching toward me. Salt spray in my faces, I reach out.
The taste of rust in my jaws is sharp but welcome. I pull myself toward the ship, and another neck reaches out. A second set of jaws close, and suddenly I am paddling, moving through a burning sea of salt and fading magic. Hoisting myself upward, I fall forward onto a plain of cold steel, and the last strands of my curse are snapped.
I get to my feet, a nightmare of tooth and talon and scale, and face a bridge rising vast and flat like a temple to the gods. There are crew on the deck, most frozen in fear or awe. A few use their weapons, their impacts like flies. On a balcony that rings the top of the bridge, a man stands before the windows, hands on the railing. His cap is white in the sunshine, the only pale shade on him. Our eyes meet, and his thoughts are open.
Take me close to the maelstrom, I think, and there I will leave. I will not harm you or yours if you do this.
Calmly, he ponders this. He handles the surprise well.
Your word? he finally replies.
You have it, if it means anything, I reply.
He nods at this, and shouts an order. They obey, and I coil myself at the point of the bow and lie down facing them, thinking of you. The maelstrom shrinks, but continues to churn.
Soon, I think, and hope our magic still connects us.
Quickly, the ship approaches the slow revolution of your draught. I know time is against us as surely as the tide, now that I have broken free. Of all our mad planning, this is the greatest unknown. Will we be broken free of this folded world, restored to what we were? There is no way to know except one.
“My love,” I roar into the wind. With all my strength, I bound overboard into the maelstrom’s heart, falling to the great and baleful eye turning toward me, a tear forming in its corner as your gaze meets mine.
© Neither River Nor Rain by Brandon Nolta. 2023. All rights reserved.
