Daikaijuzine

The whales no longer fall, and there was a time when nothing fell in their stead.

"They did it, so it is only right." Old Whitetail’s song is clear, despite her age. I sit close by her on the sea bed, restless, watching for hermits in the moon-lit sand. This night is a Singer’s time. My time.

There is a young one beside her. Scales still dark with youth, tail as black as a spiny urchin. I am no longer the young one by Whitetail’s side. I shake my hair into the salty current, conscious of its glorious gold compared to the dull night colours of the sea, but aware also of the pale scales that mottle my dark tail. Already, crimson males eye me from the distance, waiting for gold to claim the rest of my tail, waiting for me to be ready.

"Who?" The young one’s voice is unclear, trilling and hiccupping. I click at her, admonish her. One should not sing until one’s voice is ready.

She lowers her head, but Whitetail sooths her with a gentle hand. The girl isn’t out of her membrane yet, her hair and face still hidden beneath an opaque sheath of skin. Her eyes couldn’t open if we tore that skin away.

"She should not be here, old mother." My voice is beautiful. It shimmers through the water, far brighter than the moonlight. It is why I am here, resting on rock and sand.

"Hush, Singer. One day, when you are in my place, you will understand." Whitetail isn’t harsh; she is always calm. But her words sting. I have been her favourite for so long.

"Little one." The child is so young she doesn’t have a name. "Those above us. Those with legs where we have tails, with feet where we have fins. They are the ones who killed the whales. We can no longer sing the whales to a final rest, no longer consume wisdom and strength from their tired flesh."

Darkness rushes over us like a current of ice. Something blocks out the moon. I place my hands on the seabed and brace myself, impatient to be done.

The young one cannot see the shadow. "What are legs and feet?"

"I will show them to you in time. They are things that cannot be described, only seen."

My arms are tense, quivering. Waiting for Whitetail to release me, trying desperately to see what it is she sees, the sign I must look for when I am a whitetail in her place.

"But I want to see them now!" The young one’s staccato is distracting.

"You must be patient. Remember, it is not always good to see the things you want to see."

A moment, a fluttering of gills and suddenly I know it. I know it before Whitetail even tells me. I can feel the humans, high above, out of the sea but bathed in the same moonlight. A hint of terror as they wait, caged, to fulfill the bargain.

I have never felt them before. Known they were there, surely, but never like this. Is this what it takes to be a whitetail?

"Singer, it is time. Sing."

I push off from the sand. My tail beats hard behind me and I fly up through the sea. Arms reaching, mouth open, water rushes through my gills as I sing to the shadow. The cage.

I reach the waves, my tail launches me out of the sea, and for a breathless moment I am singing into the sky. The great and empty sky.

I can see their ship, ungainly in the water like a dead, floating fish, and then I drop back into the sea. Into its embrace, where I am safe.

The chains that hold the cage above the waves let go, as is arranged. The cage sinks, and I follow. Everything is aching now: my tail, my lungs, even my song. The melody drags behind me like seaweed stuck to my fins. When I catch up to the cage, I grip one of its bars and let it take me down.

I peer inside. I wonder, as I watch the figures struggling, as I listen to the stunted, bubbling calls, what it must have been like to sing a whale fall. But I will never know, and these humans are a pitiful substitute. What wisdom, what strength have we lost?

When the cage hits the seabed, most of them are already dead. Their life leaks softly into the currents.

"They took what was not offered." Whitetail is beside me, with the young one latched onto her hair and terrified. "They murdered the whales, who would give themselves willingly when it was their time to die."

One of the humans is reaching to me. Its mouth gapes, its eyes dart, wide and imploring. I drift closer, feeling bold. I have felt their terror already. I touch its soft skin hand. It holds me, grips tightly … and it is so much more than dead flesh. I know for a moment that she is not much different from me. She only wants to live, this little human fall. She is more than her fear and the guilt of a species. She has a wisdom of her own, not great like a whale, but little and petty. Like us.

"So it is only fitting–" Whitetail is looking at me, and knows I have understood. "–that they should nourish us in their stead."

This is not a great night, not my time. This is nothing but a shadow, a sad necessity.

Others slowly gather around, hungry and ready. I taste anticipation mixed with salt, and this time it makes me ill. I understand them, these human fall. I have felt them.

But I know I must feed. And only humans fall, now that the whales are gone.

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About the author: Joanne Anderton lives in Sydney, Australia, with her husband and a steadily growing assortment of animals. Her writing has appeared in The Harrow, Staffs & Starships Magazine, Flashspec Vol 2 and Book of Shadows Vol 1. She tests the self-destruct button for Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine.