Harpoon Fishing: 2
I swam to the shore less than a hundred meters away from the wreckage of town. I crawled up the beach, out of breath. Not because I was exhausted from swimming, more so that I had too much on my mind. My father was dead... He tried to save me, and Addie, from the barbaric military men. They burned down our entire village to find some harpoon or something. My father convinced them, using my would-be death, that my shoddy old fishing spear was that ancient harpoon. If Marshal knew anything, he'd know that that was not what he was looking for. While a simple fishing spear has many similarities to a harpoon, mine easily was not. The main reason being that I made it myself. I had lost the one father gifted me at my young age, stuck in a fish too big for my small body to catch. That spear was now somewhere lodged in a fish skeleton at the bottom of the ocean. I made this one after, with my father's help. It was barely better than the old one. I had to carve the head from a stone I found somewhere in the ocean, because it was "weathered." My father knew everything, and I was learning; and despite his best efforts to not teach her, Addie learned too. While she wasn't as fit as I was, unable to swim as fast or as deep, she had the jealousy of an older sibling. While I received most of father's attention, she was at home with another female -- Nana, we called her, a friend of our mother's. I crafted my own stone-tipped fishing spear; Addie made one through what she learned from watching me. She kept it hidden of course, she was very clever, only telling me about it a few years ago. My head was throbbing, stuck full to bursting with memories and fears, hopeless plans and raw anger. I had to do something. Then someone touched my shoulder. I retracted quickly, for fear that it was someone with the intention of hurting me. As I looked, however, I saw Bridgette. She was my oldest friend, and for the longest time had evident hopes of being my mate. Thinking back, it's rather funny how she fumed when she found out I was only interested in males. She reached for me again, and I allowed her. I hadn't heard her approach, then I realized my ears were still closed. As an otter, it's natural to close your ears and nose when you swim, but I guess I hadn't opened them back up. A combination of my ears closed and heavy mouth-breathing silenced her approach. Now she was right beside me, trying to comfort me. I didn't know if the salt in the wound on my cheek was from the sea or from my tears. She had clear marks of crying streaked across her
face, but she was finished for now. She was strong, emotionally, embracing me tightly, mourning with me like the good friend she was. I was strong, too; but how could you hold yourself together when you just witnessed your father's murder? Then I remembered, "I have to see him." I pushed away from Bridgette and staggered to my feet, quickly breaking into a fast sprint toward the docks. The fires all seemed to be out, no casualties. Besides my father, of course. People were settling down on the sands of the beach, but I needed to get to the dock. Bridgette was behind me, pushing hard to keep up. After so long of trying to ignore me (and me trying to get her to notice me), she seemed determined to prove herself again, though I never doubted her friendship. Her jealousy was well-placed.I scaled the steps three at a time, but still couldn't get there fast enough. Running the same path as earlier that same morning, I quickly found my way home. Seeing my father, motionless on the damp wood, I lost control again. I had never cried so hard before. Falling to my knees, my breathing was staggered and my throat hurt with painful howls. Tears flowing as fast as a river, followed by my nose running almost so fast. I was on my knees beside him, wanting to hold him. I only fell over him, hiding my face in my arms, I cried into his bloody back. Someone touched me, I knew it was Bridgette, I didn't stop. I couldn't stop if I tried. I didn't remember what I last said to him, only thinking it was something harsh and hurtful. I apologized to him, over and over through sharp gasps and wobbling words. I sat up and looked at him again, slowing my breathing. His eyes were closed, and I swore there was a smile on his face. I almost smiled too, but couldn't. Nearly breaking down again, I turned to Bridgette, burying my face in her chest. That was something I found I preferred in males: a strong chest to rest on and cry into. A female's body was too soft. When I was younger, I was weak, emotionally sensitive. I couldn't give you examples, because I always put bad memories away from thought. I would always run to my father, though. I had run to my sister or Nana on occasion, but never felt as safe. In later years I might have a man to cradle me, comfort me. I could be the small one for him, when so often I was meant to be big, heroic, strong. I could be the otter they needed, but not all the time. Now, in my weakest moment, I wept like a widow into a pillow that smelled of him. Bridgette stroked my back gently, hushing me quietly. Eventually I steadied myself. She tried hard to cheer me up; "Why don't you tell me about him?" She looked down at me as I turned from her embrace. She held me
like a pup, I almost felt awkward cradled this close to her breast. "What's your best memory of him." Of course it was the lessons in crafting my spear, but I couldn't bring it up. I clenched my eyes and shook my head. Sensing the despair returning, Bridgette tried something else. "Ok, ok... um. What about your first love?" It couldn't have been a comfortable topic for her. She already knew, and he was the one she hated me for. "Marcus," I choked out, "the blacksmith's son." The blacksmith had three sons, I fell for the youngest. "He was the strongest of his brothers, had the fewest problems." He never questioned his emotions, never cried or got upset, though he knew I'd be there if he did. "We were there for each other, we promised." I lost my virginity to him, a night to remember. He truly was gentle, crediting his craft, claiming he needed to be sweet to the metals he forged. He wasn't much of a swimmer, but always tried his best so he could be with me. Our first time was on the beach, which seemed to be a usual place for me from then on. He pushed all my buttons, hit all the right spots and left me satisfied. We collapsed on the blanket there and slept close together. It was hard to believe an otter the same age as me could seem so much larger. He offered me gifts that I couldn't accept. Being a blacksmith, he tried to convince me I needed a new spear, one with a strong iron tip. I always refused. The one my father and I made... I choked up again as the memory returned to my father. "Shh, shh..." Bridgette soothed. "What about his other gifts?" An anklet. The only one I accepted, a chain ring made with impossibly small links, and a steel he supposedly invented. It seemed a simple thing but I loved it. A clever locking hook made it easy to put on, but still so that it wouldn't come off while I was swimming, and it never seemed to rust or break. I knew it couldn't have been easy to make. "It's still in the house," I said. I felt her move as she looked toward where my home once stood, now garbage at the bottom of the sea. "His brothers liked me, I was a guy." I felt a smile as I remembered how cool they were. "I like that, I can be a guy with him, with them. I don't have to be some feminine boy just because..." "Shh, I know." She stroked my head. She would make a good mate to the right male, lucky guy. Good for her. "His father wasn't so pleased. He never spoke with me, and rarely does even now. His mother was kind, trying to convince her mate
that it was an OK thing." His father would be what ended our relationship. He told me his parents fought endlessly over us. His mother liked me, thought I was sweet. His father hating me to no end. Marcus told me, as we met in secret one night, that he convinced his father that our love was only a phase. He told his father he still liked females and didn't really want to be with me. It broke my heart, ending everything on such a low note. "We're still friends though," I said, as she wiped tears from my cheek. The cut ached to the touch, but out of everything it hurt least. "He is such a nice otter," she said. She pulled a handkerchief from her skirt pocket and let me wipe my nose. "Any more fond memories? What about your first catch?" It was also a great memory. My mother was still there. I used my father's spear. "No," I interrupted the reminiscence. "I'm done." I lifted myself away and kissed her cheek. "Thank you," with a smile. I turned to my father and bent to lift him in my arms. It wasn't easy, with him being such a large otter, but my regular swim routine had toned my body. I lifted him gently and carried him to the shore where everyone was gathering, helping each other settle down. Most of them had not been aware their mayor had been slain, stabbed by some brute in cold blood. Many close friends of the family were horror-struck, many simply broke down to tears. I laid him down -- is it strange I still say "him," when it is only his body? A wide circled closed around us, my father and I. Preparations were to begin for his funeral. He was stripped carefully and washed in fresh water, powdered with a fine dust ground from dried seaweed. He was wrapped, first in a layer of fine cotton, then in a layer of fresh seaweed. I gathered the seaweed myself, according to tradition. I sailed with many of his friends on Sash's boat, the rest of the town on other boats. We sailed until no land was visible. A chain was wrapped tightly around his waist, torso and ankles so he would lay peacefully on the sea floor. Next, I worked with Marcus to lower my father to the surface of the water. Marcus's oldest brother took the rope from me, so I could complete one final wish. I jumped into the water, feeling strange, swimming in my nice vest and pants. I waded up to my father's seaweed-and-cloth-wrapped body, laying a hand on his head and saying for the last time, "I love you." I nodded and the blacksmith brothers lowered my father just below the surface before letting go. I watched from the cold air as his body sank silently into darkness. I refused to dive and watch from below the surface,
it wouldn't be right, I wouldn't have truly let go. The entire ceremony lasted until near dusk. Everyone mourned greatly, but not so much as I had. While everyone gave prayers for my father on the beach near the ruined town, I stood alone, watching the sunset. My fine clothes were wrinkled, but dry. I heard someone approaching and turned to see two figures in the dimming light of the evening's twilight. Nana came to me first, hugged me tight and apologized to me, before returning to her own family. I didn't need a "sorry," nor did I want one. Bridgette approached me with a weak smile, one that I empathized with. "What now?" She asked. I looked down at my palm. The small glass cylinder I had found under my house. I hadn't yet opened it, had mostly forgotten about it until now. Where had I been keeping it all this time? I marveled at the thing: a perfectly sealed glass tube, no cork or lid. I cringed, hating myself for it, cracking the piece in two, searching for what was inside. A small roll of old paper. How typical, I thought. Unrolling it, I was barely surprised to see it perfectly dry. Then I saw the print; though couldn't understand it in the least. Bridgette came closer to look over my shoulder. It seemed meaningless. Almost all of it painted a dark blue-black color, with random specs strewn about haphazardly. "Are they... stars?" Bridgette questioned. I couldn't quite see it, but somehow knew she must be right. I didn't know stars that well, though I loved seeing them from the beach. I hastily rolled it back up and stuffed it in my pants pocket. "Something my father said to me, during the fire..." I tried hard to remember, finally believing I was well enough to think of him. "He said, 'This house stands above... a great secret.'" I thought some more, "No, 'the beginnings of a great secret.' He said my mother went looking for it, to protect me." "Ok, so...?" Bridgette was confused. I looked at her, explaining as well as I could. "According to some prophecy, I'm supposed to wield, or bear some great, ancient harpoon." "Is that what that panther was talking about?" She asked, concerned. I didn't know she had heard that. "After I saw the house collapse on you, I wanted to come running. Nana stopped me, but I got close enough to hear him." I worried about what she heard, for some reason. "He seemed to recite something from an old text. I've never read anything like that before, but it did sound familiar." "Do you remember exactly what?" I was
relying on her memory now, she did have a strong one. She nodded, "He said, 'A son shall be born in white. This shall be my prodigy, for he shall be the bearer of my weapon of power. So say I, Nikia.'" She looked into my eyes, "Did he mean Nikia the First? Was that who he was quoting?" "I think so," I offered, "but I don't know. I think this paper might be a star map, leading to the harpoon Marshal was looking for." "I thought he took it," she said, confused. "Your old spear?" "No, I made that spear myself remember?" Then I had a thought. I knew what I had to do. Turning, I began walking south along the beach. Then she shouted to me, "He said he made a woman of you!" The comment stopped me in my tracks. I remembered, hurt by the reminder."And...?" I waited. She said nothing for some time. I'm sure she felt sorry for me, having been spoken of so lowly.After some time, she spoke again, "So, now you plan to go get the harpoon?""I have to Bridgette." I returned to my brisk walk, Bridgette jogged to catch up. "I have to," I said, more quietly this time, trying to remember clearly. I stopped and crouched to the ground, digging into the sand far from the beach. "If I don't, he might kill Addelphe." Why did I use Addie's full name? "You can't give him the harpoon," she argued. "It's an ancient artifact of the Founders. It has unspeakable power over the ocean!" I stopped digging and turned to her. "You know about the artifacts?" She nodded, "They were in this book in the library." We had a library, I suddenly remembered. I rarely visited, preferring to swim than to read. I did read on occasion, if the book seemed good enough, but I never read about any artifacts. "I took it home and hid it," she finished. Ceasing my search again I looked to her. She refused eye contact. "Bridg, is the book still there?" She turned back to me, now angry. "I don't know, Damien, there was a fire!" "If I learn about the other artifacts I might be able to get them before Marshal. I won't have to give him anything if I'm stronger than him." "You can't give him anything, and you can't fight him!" She insisted. "He has an army, he has your sister!" That comment startled me. I calmed down, "So what do you think I should do?" She paused, also calming down. Then her face turned sad, "I want you to stay. Help rebuild the village,
we need you." I stood, stepped closer to her, "I can't," I admitted. "I'm not the leader my father wanted, I can't fix anything. I can't even teach someone to swim." I had tried. Luckily, I was able to help the young ferret girl out, in the end. She sees me with an awkward fear now. Someone else took over her lessons. I knew Bridgette cared for me greatly, she always had. She didn't want me to go, and knew I didn't want to; but I had to. I had to save Addie. I gripped Bridgette's soft shoulders and gently touched my forehead to hers. I waited, eyes closed, took a deep breath and let her enjoy the moment. Then softly, "I love you." She gasped, and her body shivered. She had waited her whole life to hear me say that to her, and it was true; she had remained my one true, loyal friend through all these years. She sewed most of my garments, because she knew how I liked them tight (and she needed to measure my whole body very closely). She shared mussels with me, taught me to read. She's seen me naked. (Well, I guess everyone has.) It wasn't exactly easy for me to say it, either, but it was true and she needed to hear it. If only once. I opened my eyes, hers were still closed. I watched a tear creep through her lashes and swim down the fur on her face. Suddenly she pushed away. "Just go!" She demanded. I let her turn away, she didn't want to feel like this anymore. I felt awful, but knew I needed to tell her. It would help her get over me, right? I turned back to the sand and thrust my hand in. The old treasure was buried quite deep, but now I was sure this was the right place. She buried it under shiny shells and rocks so that anyone digging curiously would stop when they found those. I knew better. My fingers stopped on the hard item and I grabbed it. Stepping aside, I pulled slowly, for my sister's spear had a rather long shaft buried under quite a lot of sand. It had always fascinated me, this spear. Addie made it herself, watching me make mine from a distance. The part I loved most was its coral head. The nearest reef was almost a kilometer north from the dock, the place she buried it was about half that distance south. She never used it, so it was still in near-perfect condition, safe from nature under all the sand and so far from the waves. I held it at my side, then saw Bridgette. She still faced away from me, toward the campfires of the townsfolk far away. A thought came to me, "Come with me." What was I saying? I couldn't let her come with me on such an arduous journey, especially not while she was torn by what I said. Plus, what if I never returned? "No," she said finally, to my
relief. "Someone's got to be here for the people." She turned to me, an exasperated smile on her face. "Then," I began, trying to think of something kind to say, "remember me as you've seen me tonight." She chuckled, "What, in your wrinkly old vest?" Her genuine smile made me happy. I did love this girl, though I could never love her the way she wanted. I smiled back. "What do you mean, 'old'? You made it for me." We laughed together. It was good to be laughing with her again. When we finally stopped laughing and making silly faces from our childhood, she said something. "You're gonna need some things for your... Your quest." It sounded strange, the idea of a family-boy like me going on a quest. A part of me didn't want to, wanted to stay home and rebuild. The rest of me knew I had to go, though, and that was what I was going to do. We walked back to the village. Everyone was still getting over the loss of my father, the mayor, as they put their young to bed. I began stripping, while Bridgette went back into the ruins of Talassa Town to gather what she thought I needed. I left my undergarments on, though I don't know why. Perhaps, subconsciously, I knew that I could no longer go around nude like I was so accustomed to. Still, the briefs weren't much more from that.I climbed the steps onto the dock again and found my way home. Gazing at the hole left in place of the building, I sighed, and dove into the water. After some searching I resurfaced on the beach nearby. Bridgette was waiting for me. She had a basket of clams, and a book. The cover was singed, but I knew it was the book containing the legends she told me about. I walked up out of the water toward her to show her what I found. She adored it, as much as I did: the small chain anklet Marcus made for me. Recalling the instance, I'm sure I noticed Marcus gazing at me, that "once-love" gaze I hoped to see in him someday.