Longseer

© 2004 Joseph Berry
All rights reserved.

They came for him that evening, their breath sweet with the scent of urchin gin. Their bodies were hunched and powerful, and their ponytails swung as they lumbered into the hut.

Without a word the Krobbolytes marched him across the wasteland towards the dock. The lolling bulks of the Great Ships eclipsed the stars ahead, and Tarn felt small and alone. He knew little about the fisher tribes save the efficiency of their work and their reputation for brutality.

Now the creatures led him toward one of the vessels of which Tarn's people muttered black rumours. Its sides towered higher than any building that he knew of. Seaweed clung to the tar that coated the hull, and the stench of rotten fish filled the air.

A gangway led steeply up to the fore of the ship and his captors gestured for him to ascend. For a second he contemplated jumping into the ocean below, but he was a poor swimmer and his hands were tied.

He was not yet desperate enough for suicide.

Harsh laughter erupted on the dock. There, flanked by several Krobbolytes, a man skulked, his head down. Tarn felt a wrench in his stomach as he realised that it was his father.

"Please!" Tarn called out, his voice as thin as the clouds that were streaked pitifully against the dusk.

If his father heard, he gave no sign. Instead he turned and walked slowly away. His head was bowed, but Tarn could not tell whether it was with the weight of his conscience or the gold in his shoulder bags.

How could he do it? Tarn wondered miserably.

He blinked back tears as his guards forced him on board the Great Ship, mercifully blocking his father's retreat from view.

They crossed the deck, stained dark by the Krobbolytes' grisly work, and came to an iron hatchway through which Tarn could see a ladder descending into the hold. The hatch was thrown open with a crashing clang.

Immediately an answering torrent of noise rushed up from below: frenzied splashing, knockings, and a low mournful cry that made his heart ache.

The Krobbolytes snarled at the reaction. Roughly they pushed Tarn down onto the ladder and slammed the grate above him, sending a rain of spittle into the darkness before they left.

For a long time he clung to the wet rungs, staring up at the clouds that raced across the sky. The noise below had quieted, but he was too scared to descend. His legs felt like blubber. It was all he could do to hang on with his face pressed to the hatch.

Why did I have to be born like this? he thought. Why did I have to be a Longseer?

His arms were beginning to ache when a voice called up to him. It was the voice of a human, a boy, and although the accent was unfamiliar, Tarn felt a flood of relief.

The boy called out again.

"Hey, come on down will you? There's no way out up there!"

Tarn looked past his feet and saw a round face illuminated by a candle thirty feet below. The stranger beckoned, but the flickering light made it hard to see him clearly. Bulky shadows filled the rest of the hold.

With a last gulp of fresh air, Tarn descended into the bowels of the Great Ship.

On reaching the bottom of the ladder, Tarn turned to get his first good look at the other boy. His eyes widened in dismay.

The boy had long hair, black and greasy, and stubble dirtied his cheeks. His eyes were sunken in a pale face, with dark patches encircling them. He looked more Krobbolyte than human.

What in the heavens can have happened to him? Tarn thought, pressing his back to the ladder. He wiped his hands on his jerkin self-consciously, noting the tattered rags of his companion.

"So, was that your father up on the dock?" the boy asked, apparently unconcerned by Tarn's reaction.

Tarn stiffened.

"How do you know about that?" he asked. "You couldn't have seen him from here... "

His voice trailed off as the other boy raised a bare forearm. The tattooed symbols were a little more faded than Tarn's own, but their meaning was just as stark. His mind flailed like a fish on the shore.

"What do they need Longseers here for?" he cried.

"Humph. I'd have thought that was obvious. How do you think those beasts manage to fill their holds every trip?" The boy scowled at Tarn's incomprehension. "We find the fish. And the whales, and the sea snakes, and the dolphin. Whatever species is in highest demand—that's what we look for."

Tarn's young face dropped in horror, but the older boy seemed more amused than concerned.

"You mean they expect us to use the longsight to look down there?" Tarn stammered. "Into the water?"

"Of course they do! But that's the least of your problems," the older boy began again, but Tarn was lost in remembrance.

He had used the longsight once before to look down into a different sea; the warm blue waters near his homeland. The sensations came back with surprising force. Tarn could feel the claustrophobic pressure of the water. He recalled the irrational fear that even though his body was safely on the beach, a part of him was way down in the deep. Disconnected. Isolated. Drowning.

His anxiety had remained with him long after he had recalled the longsight and stared out from his own eyes once more.

The older boy seemed at last to read some of Tarn's concern. He placed a skinny arm around his shoulders.

"My name is Moor," he said, and then with mock grandeur, "Moor Stallock of the Bridgtown Stallocks, the richest, most powerful family in the Outer Rounds."

Tarn looked on in bemusement. It was hard for him to imagine the ragged creature before him coming from such a background.

As he went on, Moor's voice lost its affect and became melancholy. "My family owns half the farms in and around Bridgtown, and most of the businesses."

"So why are you here?" asked Tarn in confusion. "My family is poor. Our home has only one room. Nobody can sleep with the girls crying all the time. There's no room to cook, to think. It's hard for us, especially my parents. They needed the money, I guess."

Moor laughed bitterly.

"Tell yourself that if it makes you feel better. As for my family, they haven't always been rich. Not materially anyway, but our bloodline is one of the most productive for Longseer children. The Krobbolytes have been fishing this ocean for millennia. Do you think we were the first to be sold to them? They have always needed Longseers, and our people have always needed what they catch."

He led Tarn away from the ladder. Tanks and boxes loomed on either side and Tarn began to feel like a rat in a metal maze.

Suddenly the low mournful tone sang out again, and Tarn flinched in fright. He wiped his palms on his trousers as they grew cold and sweaty, but noticed that Moor ignored the sound.

Tarn tried to do the same. "If your family is rich now, why did they need to sell you?" he asked.

"Well, I have my great-great-grandfather to thank for that. The Krobbolytes may be barbarous, but they're not stupid. They made him sign a contract promising one Longseer from each generation of Stallocks in exchange for a hold full of the finest whale oil and seal pelts. The term was one hundred and fifty years, or ten generations, whichever came sooner." Moor sighed. "It's not wise to break a Krobbolyte contract."

Tarn pictured the vicious fangs of his captors and nodded dumbly in agreement.

Moor was now climbing up a wooden ladder attached to the side of a massive tank. The metal vibrated as the otherworldly call came once more. Tarn clasped his hands to his ears in terror.

"What is it?" he cried.

"Don't be scared," Moor said from above, "come on up."

The sound, it's so sad, Tarn thought. His emotions were still raw, but he was determined to be strong in front of his new companion. The chords throbbed in his chest as he climbed.

"We aren't the only tools they use to find their prey." Moor said.

Tarn peered into the water-filled tank. Bobbing forlornly in the centre was the smooth shape of a whale calf. Moor reached out and stroked the animal's back, causing its song to change subtly. Tarn thought that it sounded a little less lonely now.

"She's been here for a couple of weeks, but she won't last long in captivity," Moor said sadly. "I've seen it many times. This is no way for any creature to live."

"But why do they keep a whale here? It can't tell them whether there are fish outside."

"No," Moor replied, "but she will react whenever she hears an adult's call. She can't help it. She can hear them from many leagues away, and when she calls out in reply they come to her... into the harpooner's range."

Moor shuddered, and this time it was Tarn's turn to try and offer some comfort.

"My name is Tarn," he said, feeling inadequate. "At least we won't be trapped here alone."

Moor smiled then, but there was little happiness in his face, just a grim determination. "Hopefully we won't be trapped here at all for much longer."

The whale calf stirred uneasily in her tank, hearing the anchor being raised before they did. The ship was setting sail.

"They will come for us soon," Moor said, and then fell into a meditative silence.

Tarn wondered what the strange boy was thinking. He looked up at the distant roof, from where the guttural voices of many Krobbolytes could be heard.

How can we possibly escape from here? he wondered.

Tarn stared down into black waves, his mind swimming with dread. Pain crashed through his shoulder as a Krobbolyte wrenched his arm up behind his back. Finally it became too much and he gave in.

The surface soared toward him. For a fraction more he hesitated, but his captors knew their tools well. A renewed jab of pain sent his mind down into the sea.

On the deck Tarn's body gasped. He could not breathe underwater, but when longseeing his body's limitations were not important. Only his mind could harm him now.

He sank fearfully down, only to find himself engulfed in an algal bloom. Despite the night-vision clarity of the longsight, the soupy water was impenetrable. Tarn's mind's eye roved randomly for a few seconds, trying to find clear water. He dove and twisted through the gloom.

Tarn soon realised that this was a mistake; he could no longer tell which direction he was facing. All around was a uniform green.

Waves of panic broke over him. On board his body began to tremble. I can't get out! he thought. I can't find the way up! He swept his longsight around, desperate to find a visual anchor in the green fog.

And, then, after what seemed like an eternity, he saw the black shadow of the boat. Tarn focussed on the shape, his mind directing his body to breathe deeply and slowly. Gradually, with his perspective restored, Tarn became calm again. He refocused on the task he had been given, the only way he could return to his body and be allowed to stay there.

Please, he thought, let me find them soon. Don't make me go deeper.

He was almost ready to risk returning empty-handed when he saw his quarry. The drawings he had been shown, probably provided by his own people, had been labelled as Gaspar. They were ugly fish, all long, featureless, bodies and vicious, pointed, heads. The shoal began to move away, and Tarn followed.

They were traveling fast now and suspended particles flashed by in a blur. Distances stretched and still the shoal fled, almost as though they could sense his presence. He began to feel a sense of exhilaration.

This is crazy, he thought, I shouldn't be enjoying this—I'm a slave! But at some level the chase had affected him. He was almost enjoying it.

Then he hit the Limit.

A thudding ache of pain stopped his flight dead. His vision began to recoil. Like a fish on a line, his longsight was being reeled in.

On board the Great Ship, to the disgust of his captors, Tarn collapsed into unconsciousness.

Tarn dreamt of strange deep waters, lit by a submerged sun. A city blurred beneath the liquid light, and he felt achingly at home, even though he had never seen this place, never before stepped outside the grassy plains of the Outer Rounds.

Instinctively he knew that the city dated from before the maiden sailings of Great Ships.

Before the decline of the Longseer.

"I'll say one thing for this life," Moor said when Tarn began to come round, "it makes you a damned good Longseer."

He looked down at Tarn's pale face.

"Eventually," he added.

They were alone in the hold again. Moor had been forced to complete Tarn's shift before being allowed to care for the younger boy, but he was not overly concerned about him.

"You'll be okay, kid. It's always worst the first time. A bit more practise and your Limit will extend further than you'd believe. The sights you'll see..."

Tarn stirred weakly. His eyelids fluttered.

"You know, the more I think about it, the more I realise things could be much worse," Moor continued, deliberately upbeat. "Did you know that the Krobbolytes use Longseers in the mines as well?" He poured water onto Tarn's lips. "Longseeing into the sea is okay when you get used to it, but imagine looking into the hearts of mountains to find silver seams! It'd be like being buried alive.

"No Tarn, we're not badly off here on the ocean. Out here we have a chance." Moor stopped, as if debating whether he should continue.

Then he leaned forward.

"I've found her," he whispered. "I went deeper and further than they know, and I found her."

Tarn's eyes fluttered open. He tried to sit up, but Moor pushed him gently back.

"Rest up Tarn. You need to be ready when she comes."

From his cot beside the whale's tank, Tarn felt the Great Ship turn hard to port. Moor was nowhere to be seen.

Guttural shouts of excitement and greed filtered down between the boards of the deck. A hunt was beginning, and even in his inexperience Tarn could sense that it was a big one.

He climbed unsteadily to his feet and heard the low, pining call of the whale calf. Tarn remembered how Moor had calmed it and climbed to the edge of the tank to stroke the ailing creature.

Moor's harsh whisper snapped his attention to the hatch high above.

"Tarn, get into the tank!"

"What?" Tarn hissed back, confused.

"Get into the tank and hold on." Moor laughed, a hint of mania in his voice. "I told them it was a whale. Why should they disbelieve me after all this time?" He laughed again.

Tarn winced as an angry growl, followed by the crack of a whip, cut short his friend's message.

"Moor!" Tarn called out. "What have you done?"

The whale calf let out a tremulous tone of concern.

Tarn hesitated, unsure what to do, but as the excited cries of the Krobbolytes began to ring out again, his curiosity overcame him. He extended his longsight upward.

The sky was the colour of rotten meat. Scavenging seabirds hung about the masts. Tarn swooped lower.

On the deck he saw Moor, his tattered shirt wet with blood drawn by a Krobbolyte whip. One of the beasts held Moor firmly by the back of the neck, but its attention was focussed on the harpooneers. A dozen or more were peering down into the sea on the starboard side with their weapons at the ready.

Tarn felt his heart begin to thump as he stared at the foam-flecked waves. He could see nothing from above, and presumed that the Krobbolytes could not either. They were relying on Moor's guidance.

He hovered above the deck as his nerves built. He did not wish to face the murky depths again.

Then Tarn saw his friend's mouth open to speak. An order was passed on from his Krobbolyte guardian to its captain. With a creaking sound the Great Ship began to circle.

Still there was no sign of the Krobbolytes' quarry, but Tarn saw Moor focussing on the sea. A smile played over Moor's lips. His longsight was showing him something that was hidden to his captors, and to Tarn.

That's it, Tarn decided. I have to see!

His hands gripped the side of the tank so hard that his fingertips were white. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

Tarn drove his longsight down into the water, and prayed that his fear would not paralyse him.

There was no time for his phobia to take hold. As soon as he dipped beneath the waves, Tarn saw movement in the depths. Something was rising toward the ship; something more massive than any whale.

A shimmer of iridescence rippled through the approaching behemoth, revealing details that had been masked in shadows.

Tarn caught a glimpse of tentacles edged with razor-sharp bone. Improbable and cruelly hooked spines jutted out from the thing's neck. Her mouth gaped obscenely and was lined with vast rows of teeth.

Tarn stared in awe at the giant of the sea. In the hold his breath came in shallow gasps, his heart hammering.

Back! his mind screamed. Come back!

Tarn's longsight flashed through the water and up into the hold. His body jerked as it slammed into him, and for a second he was winded by the psychic impact. Then, as his breath returned, he remembered his friend crouched alone on the deck.

"Moor!" he shouted, "I'm coming!"

Tarn slid down from the tank and raced through the maze of crates, just as a great roar of dismay came from the deck above.

They've seen Moor's little surprise, Tarn thought. If only he'd told me what he had in mind!

He had almost reached the ladder leading up to the deck when the leviathan struck.

The air was filled with the shriek of splitting wood. Tarn was tossed to one side as the Great Ship lurched in the water. He slammed painfully against a box.

Suddenly the boards beneath his feet exploded in a shower of splinters. He leapt for the ladder as the tip of a spine pierced the hull. Even at the end it was as thick as a small tree.

All around him more spines burst through, toppling crates and boxes, and spraying fountains of seawater into the hold.

Tarn scrambled upward.

"Moor!" he cried out again, but he was answered only by the panicked shouts of the Krobbolyte crew. Tarn pushed at the grate covering the hatchway. He felt a cold lurch of horror as he realised it was locked. He was trapped.

Tarn looked down into the hold again. The creature had pulled its spines loose, leaving gaping wounds in the ship's belly. Already the sea was flooding in, eager to claim the space for its own.

"Moor, you fool! I'm going to drown in here!"

Feet away from the hatch Tarn saw a Krobbolyte sailor stop and stare out to sea. He was desperate enough to seek help from any source.

"Hey!" Tarn yelled, pressing his face against the bars. "Hey! Let me out of here!"

The Krobbolyte ignored him. Something thin and fast whipped the air in front of the dumbstruck creature. Tarn's eyes widened.

"Look out!" he cried. "I need your key!"

There was a sickening ripping noise as the thing sliced through the Krobbolyte's flesh. Its body flew backward under the impact, landing heavily on the hatch. A bloody tentacle protruded from the centre of its back, inches from Tarn's face.

Tarn yelled out in disgust and fear. For a split second he lost all sense of self-control; his only thought was to escape the glinting appendage. Hurriedly he began to descend, but his feet slipped on the metal rungs. With a terrified scream he fell from the ladder.

Tarn landed with a splash amongst the floating splinters of the hull. For a moment he was underwater, the noise of the destruction deadened, but then he was back on the surface gasping for air.

The water was already ten feet deep and rising rapidly. Tarn looked about him in the twilight, trying to find something to grab on to. Most of the crates in the hold were either bolted down or too heavy, but one was now floating upward with the waterline.

Moor's last instructions came back to Tarn as he splashed toward the whale's tank. His friend had known that this was going to happen.

The tank was low in the water and he clambered over the edge easily. Tarn slipped inside, wrapped his arms around the calf, and waited as the tank rose. The hold's roof grew closer. Tarn knew that he was still trapped.

"Well, he did think of me," Tarn whispered, his words almost lost in the sound of rushing water, "but I think my luck has run out." Then he stroked the whale's back and said, "At least you'll be okay."

A crash echoed from above as the leviathan continued to demolish the Great Ship. A rain of planks fell heavily down from the roof, sending up plumes of spray. Tarn covered his face as water cascaded over them.

When he opened his eyes again, a smile spread across his face.

"I don't believe it!" he breathed.

Taking up a pair of boards, Tarn began to row toward the newly revealed sky.

After the Great Ship had drifted into the depths, Tarn watched the calf's gleeful escape to the limit of his longsight.

"I hope you find your family little one," he sighed, as he began his own grim search amongst the floating debris.

It didn't take him long to find Moor. The boy lay on his front on a narrow board, his long hair matted with blood. Tarn paddled over and saw that the wound was not accidental. The Krobbolytes had punished Moor's treachery despite the chaos of the end.

"Moor?" Tarn asked gently. "Can you hear me?"

He had not expected a reply, and when one came he felt little relief. Moor's voice was thick and slurred.

"Did we do it?" he mumbled, twisting his head in Tarn's direction. His eyes were glazed. "Tarn? I ... can't see you. Speak ... to me."

Moor's voice was growing weaker by the second. Blood oozed from his mouth.

"Yes, Moor, we made it—we're free." Tarn's own words were nearly strangled by the tightness of his throat.

Moor winced in pain.

"It's ... grey. Everything is grey...." he said.

Tarn's tears ran freely. He waved his hand in front of Moor's face. There was no reaction. Tarn knew that his friend was dying, that he had given his life to save him.

"Use your longsight, Moor," he said. "I want to show you something. Look down. Far, far down."

Tarn watched Moor's eyes close. Beneath the lids a flicking movement showed that he was longseeing.

"Go deep down," Tarn whispered. "There's another sun down there, another world. It's an ancient place, Moor. A safe place."

A ragged sigh escaped Moor's lips.

"Do you see it? Do you see the city?" Tarn urged.

Moor's bloodied lips opened a crack.

"I see it."

The movement behind Moor's eyes stopped abruptly.

He had reached his Limit.

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