Tales from Virdinia

Dead Sea

The sea was calm, yet the whale would be back. Trinda knew this in his gut as he watched the sun slip behind the horizon, his feet sinking into the crisp, white sand. The sky was ablaze with reds and golds, and he was thankful that it would be a clear night. Another storm would mean another night of watching the vast creature circle the cape, another night of not being able to bring an end to this curse.

The whale always came in the dead of night, when the storms were at their worst, its vast bulk glowing like moonlight beneath the surface. For the first night, the fishing village had watched from the cliff-top in superstitious awe as jagged forks of lightning hit the water's surface, none able to take their eyes from the ghostly shape as it swam beneath the tempest. The following night, none had dared leave their houses. A sickness had begun to spread through the village, and death now walked amongst them. It slept in their homes, taking the young and old alike.

The whale had brought nothing but death to their shores too, and the smell of rotting fish was overwhelming. The tide had scattered their golden, scaled bodies across the beach, covering what had once been paradise in death and decay. A feathered lizard screeched as it circled high above on wide wings, its plumage blood-red and flecked with green. Trinda looked up for a moment, watching the creature carefully. Normally, its kind would never have wasted such an easy opportunity, yet it refused to descend, remaining high above the beach. Even the scavengers would not touch this failed bounty, Trinda thought with grimly. This had to end. Tonight.

He had managed to persuade what able men were left to drag the village's narrow fishing boats down to the shore, and they had loaded them with hunting-spears and bows. This would be the whale's last visit, he would make sure of it. His children were sick, and his wife had not opened her eyes for days. This was their last chance, it was the last chance for all of them.

Trinda watched the sky purple and darken. Stars winked into view, they filling the inky canvas before him with their cold, glittering eyes and slowly the moon slid from its slumber. It was round and eerily large tonight. A bad omen, Trinda thought to himself with a tremor of aprehension. Slowly, the beach around him filled with men, they slipping from the rainforest behind him in ones and twos. As they crossed the beach, all of them stared up at the moon with the same thought. The sea should be left alone tonight, a night like this was meant only for the dead.

"You should stay ashore tonight."

Trinda turned in surprise, not recognising the man who had appeared behind him. He was old, with long silver hair and an impressive, braided beard, it reaching to his chest. He repeated his warning again, staring with piercing blue eyes.

"You've seen the whale, have you not? We can't wait here, people are dying." Trinda said sharply, wondering who this old man was. Other men had walked over, and Trinda was not willing to allow this newcomer to play to their fears. Not when there was so much at stake.

"Who are you, old man?" he asked, looking him up and down.

The old man did not reply, but continued to stare. Then, slowly, he repeated himself, emphasising each and every syllable.

Cursing under his breath, Trinda ignored him and walked over to the nearest boat. He grabbed the side and called to the men around him. Those who had heard the old man hesitated, many looking up at the moon. Others made a move to the boats, however, and the rest soon followed, leaving the old man alone on the sand.

There were twenty men in total, ten to a boat. It was not nearly enough to take a creature of the whale's size, but it would have to do. The men heaved, sliding the boats along the sand and into the surf. As one, they leapt inside and confidently grabbed the oars. This was their world out upon the waves, they had been born to fish and sail.