Hancid's Search

Among the silkies on Sule Skerrie beach there had never been such love as Hancid knew for long-limbed Giersi. On winter's nights, in the quiet cave the folk would gather round to hear again and again the story of their youth together, how he had watched over her as she grew from a chubby little girl-child, rolling and laughing in the shallows, to the tall, grey-eyed woman of the folk. At the Equinox that called Hancid on his first journeying, that first venture that would make him a man among the folk, change him from useless boy to tall hero, Hancid seemed to hang back, and waited a while to watch his lovely Giersi. But she, unhappy and harsh, had made him go. How the folk gasped and shook their heads when the story told of Giersi's venturing: no girl of the folk had dared the long waves alone before. But Giersi had to swim, she wanted nothing mmore than to go to live among the seals. She believed them to be kin of the sea folk, of silkies. When she had gone, Hancid's love for her would not let a day pass without her at the centre of his thoughts. He needed to know that all was well with her, to see her grave face smile, to hear her sing, to feel she was now at peace in her chosen world. But time passed and she remained elusive, hidden among her seals. Year after year Hancid searched, swimming to meet the eternal ice, probing far into land-gripped fjords. Forward and back across the clear northern waters he ventured and his song of loneliness was known to all the creatures. He sang nightly to the puzzled seals who humped irritably away over their rocks, slipping down with a scant splash to the bottom sand, and the peace of their sleeping hollows. He called also to the slanting gulls and petrels as they soared in the air, an arm's length above the dipping waves, and they screamed abusively back. Hancid's love was not understood by the creatures, any more than by his own folk; and as the years lengthened he wandered alone more and more. Winter after winter passed and the folk had no news of him, although his thoughts often turned to them. One summer he lay on placid seas, gazing up into the midnight daylight above him. The skies, clear and blue, shed rays as the clouds shed rain; the air about him rang with the clarity of the light, as if the sun had struck the round blue bowl of the sky and all Creation sang with it. Hancid's mind was dazzled yet disturbed at seeing the sun hang there so hesitantly, swinging above the horizon at a time when, by his own day's rhythm, he should have been sleeping. But in this calm summer solicitude, where air and sea combined to soothe his storm-wrung senses, he lay awake, lapped about by listless tides which gave him no direction, and he was glad to rest in the northern, light-filled peace. The storm which was now passed, had offered a real fear: death had fingered him, rubbed him between finger and thumb; but finding him, it seemed, too small, had flung him back. Hancid now rocked on the sighing breast of ocean and reckoned his relief. Gale-driven seas had caught him too close to shore and he had been scraped too roughly on the weed-bare rocks, his strength ebbing as he struggled free. Barely breathing, in foam-torn wave-tops he had battled to force his way through the towering breakers and reach his down-deep haven under the thundering seas. But wave on wave had battered him back, and the avenging land had reached out for him. Rolled over nether rocks beneath the seas he had lost all sense of uppermost, and swam sternly more than once into the sand when he had searched for air and life. Now, wave-washed, he bathed in light and lost the dread of it all. He knew wonder of a world won from fear. Life was more real after the draining of all terror and he felt firm in his knowledge that he was of the folk. It was his pride to wander the water-ways and set himself directly toward the face of his fate. Men of the sea folk measure their lives upon waves of destruction. A hero knows the value of being when he looks daily into the eye of his ending. Bathed in the blue of the midsummer night, Hancid now recognised every muscle and limb, knew where the nails lay on fingers or toes, realised in his breathing the rhythm of his heartbeat and knew each of these signs as clues to his existence. All this pattern was filling and pulsing to prove his, his, his only, life span. Softly he joyed in it, stretched on the placid sea. Lapped in the storm-drained stillness he recognised, far away, a sound rarely heard near their summer feeding grounds: the long wailing song of a bachelor whale searching for company. The mournful, haunting cry wrenched at Hancid's heart and he turned to swim to the wide bays where he knew the great ones would congregate. Giersi! Giersi! Her name tore at his thoughts, ripping away his peace so that without knowing it he groaned aloud in the water. Searching for control Hancid turned, and taking up the note began to sing his own music of loneliness. Fathoms below, the whale, made curious by the sad song at the surface, rose up from the depths and rested alongside Hancid, his head so close that the silkie could see the barnacles which rested in the folds of flesh at his throat. The warm wet breath of the whale splattered the water all about him, as sweet and clean as salt spring rain. Hancid raised himself against a wave to greet the newcomer, but as he did so the shy giant curved and sank away out of his sight. Gazing down through the clear water Hancid saw him once more, patrolling ten feet down, his long lean back speckled with dappled light from the bright sun-sparked surface. This was the humpback Megapteron, the winged whale, eight times the silkie's length, his great fins crimpled and wrinkled by the parasitic barnacles who gathered there in chill waters. Hancid ducked down again to be close to the warm sides, to feel the stroke of warm flesh once more. Nervous, the whale drew away, circled, closed, and drew away again. Hancid, needing air too soon, rose to the surface and lay there, looking down the blue lines of light to see the submarine sides of the whale glide gracefully by. Again he began to dive, but a flap of the man-wide flukes sent such a rush of water up at him that he bobbed helpless, his head in the air. He tried twice more before the great one gave him leave to move close, then a crusted flipper scoured his shoulders and, turning, a benign eye gazed curiously at him. The whale would know him. Leaning later against the big-winged beast, Hancid cleaned his flanks, picking away the flaccid parasites, taking sea lice from the fleshy grooves around his mouth and eye. Contented, his giant companion rested at the surface, blowing gently, sleeping a little, washed by the passing waves. Hancid had never known such sure ease before. With the strengthening light of day they grew hungry, and Hancid began to look about him. The waters, normally thronged with tiny life, seemed barren, and he was a long way from harbouring rocks. It is customary for silkies to go without food when venturing, but a whale cannot do so. The great ones feed in desperate quantity through the summer, laying down a store for the starving time, the breeding time, in southern waters. In the open seas where Hancid and Megapteron lay, there could be no trawling for plenty, so, like a landsman, the whale laid his traps. While Hancid watched him intently the whale dived down into the dark. Soon a screen of tiny airbubbles began to rise up to the surface. The cylinder of bubbles enclosed krill and tiny fish, trapping them as the whale, mouth agape, rose up the funnel he had made. At the surface he pressed the water from his catch with his tongue, swallowed and turned again. Hancid reached tentatively into the mesh of bubbles and breakfasted with the whale. But the food so cunningly trapped could not be called a meal and Megapteron turned away, such a sense of loss for Hancid! His loneliness was doubled after the peaceful contact he had known with the whale. He pressed through the waves, determined to stay with his companion. All day he kept up the pace, swimming in the whale's wake. From time to time the big-winged creature paused at depth and, stirring the waters with his great flippers, called in song trying to locate others of his kind. Then the solemn pilgrimage began again. Days remained unmarked as the two quartered the northern fjords. Man, the enemy, had scoured the gentle whales out of those waters so now only a lonely few remained. But finally, in a quiet, shallow bay surrounded by low green hills a small family of about a dozen humpbacks responded to the searching cry. Abandoned to desire and delight, Megapteron flung himself into the air, curving sideways to fall back to the surface between walls of spray. Other whales among the group breached in the same way, identifying themselves before the newcomer. Without fear the massive creatures gathered to glide and swim, close and companionable. They all knew the empty seas well enough, and rejoiced that another whale had come to swell their numbers, to build up their strength and identity once more. They ignored Hancid; the silkie was smaller than the smallest of their young, and neither the males or females noticed him. He swam close with their leave, and rested often by their peaceful flanks. He fed, as they did, from the open water and only occasionally searched low cliffs of the land for shelter. When the winds came he would leave the water, since he knew his strength was not sufficient to hold him off the importunate rocks, but in the stormy waters the whales leapt and swam with glee, pitting their giant strength against the storm and enjoying the challenge of waves large enough to turn even their massive sides. When midsummer calm softened the waters, bachelors sought out females to impress with swimming displays, hanging head down, wide tails thrashing up the surface into a creamy foam. When paired, the couples swam lazily side by side, every wave a caress. The great ones love to be stroked, to be gentled, and they often allowed Hancid to groom them in the folded flesh below their jaws where the parasites lodged. Placidly content, the females fed hugely and nursed their young. Infant whales hung close to their mothers' sides or, if she was attracted away to swim among the males, an auntie or nan would mind the child, stroking him and even holding him close with her long, fore-arm flippers. The naughty youngsters caused Hancid to frown as they played restlessly about a quiet mother, sliding over her tail, butting against her blowhole. Yet the patient female suffered it, content, when all was done, merely to hold the boisterous child on her breast at the surface, until he slept. The reluctant sun was staying longer and longer below the horizon and Hancid decided to turn south. An unease among his companions told him that the whales too were readying for the journey, and he planned to swim with them a while more if he could. Unformed thoughts were driving the quiet family, and after false starts, one dawn they moved finally out of the wide bay together. Some were gone quickly, though it was early for their rush south, others hesitated and returned to the haven, but a number remained loosely constrained to travel in contact, calling when out of sight, sometimes breaching to identify their position. Pairs brushed one another as they swam, babies hung close to their mother's sides; together they moved south to find the warmer seas. They swam gracefully for all their bulk, wide flukes swaying upward and down, long slim bodies undulatiing easily through the water. The did not use their power for speed; not until danger threatened. Then it was the whales who were first aware, their hearing so much more acute than Hancid's. Even as he wondered why they were disturbed, he too felt rather than heard that relentless, rushing sound in the water: a hunting orca pack was moving in unison and at speed. As the sound magnified, it became certain that they were tracking the whales. And they never missed. It was the worst possible moment: out in the open sea there were no hiding places. At this season no floating mountains of ice offered sanctuary. With young ones to protect, no use to submerge, they could neither dive the dark depths nor remain long below the surface. The whales silently drew close in their trouble. They blew softly under water in order to spend as little time as possible at the surface and moved with slow deliberation, giving no clues to their position. Yet it was clear that the orcas were getting closer: with relentless intent they rose and fell, curving across the surface together. The clicks of their spying echo-systems peppered the water around the whales: the family was identified, catalogued, condemned. Frantic in distress, Hancid entreated the circling whales. It was time to make an escape, the killers spelt death and could be a danger for him too. Yet he remained with his ponderous companions as they swirled gently about, making no move to save themselves. At last, nerves at screaming pitch, Hancid swam into the circle, and sensed as he did so a tremor, a stiffening of mind and muscle all around him. So, a decision had been reached, and marshalling their young the family turned away. Strong tail thrusts sent Hancid headlong, and though he struggled to rejoin them, in a moment they were gone. With sudden power they had streamed through the waters and were lost to sight. All but one. Megapteron lay unhappily below the surface. His kind eye was turned down and back as if he sought a last glimpse of his loved ones, his great wings drooped uselessly. Then, lifting his head to the surface, he blew, a hollow, dejected sound, and began to swim. He swam heavily into the path of the killer pack. Alarmed, Hancid slid into his position at the whale's bow wave, and turned his face to signal his distress to his gentle friend. Megapteron's eye darkened and drooped down. Do not ask, he seemed to say, this is ordained. With slow strokes the great one drew away towards his fate. Daily in the seas violent death lashes the waters, but it is rare that the victim goes willingly. The big whale's sacrifice was beyond Hancid's understanding, and he followed humbly. If they all swim to escape then only the weakest will be caught. But Megapteron had chosen his own end: this was his love for his own kind. The killers hurtled through the water, tall dorsal fins clear above the surface now. Without hesitation each member of the pack swung into his place. In the open water they circled their prey as he waited at the surface. Some cut off a possible escape into the depths by taking station below him and with a foaming frenzy the attack began. The shining dapper bodies of the predators seemed to butt at the slender sides of Megapteron, then as they drew away, strips of white blubber were revealed, staring pink as blood seeped through. One of the rear guard attacked his tail, fastening on it with vicious interlocking teeth. As they chewed and tore, the gentle beast lost his strength, lost his grace, yet purposefully he continued to draw the pack away from his escaping kindred. The attack went on and Hancid, sickened, tried to turn away. As he did so the hooded, melancholy eye sought his and he knew he must wait for the end. Abruptly as the massacre began it was over. The pack slowed, the flurry in the water subsided, and they turned away. Having eaten their fill they would leave quiet, faithful Megapteron to his lonely death. His flesh was torn in many places by the rough, ripping action of the orcas. Their teeth had torn away his body's covering and life's blood ran from him out of many wounds. His tail, his flippers, his stubby back fin were all mutilated, useless. He wallowed in the water, forty tons of heaving injured flesh. He knew defeat for himself, but his justification was the safety of his kind. In the night, rain fell, icy tears on the tilting sea. Megapteron could hold himself afloat no longer, it was time for him to go. With a quiet sigh, courteous and sad, he relinquished the world he knew and slipped away from Hancid's touch. The waves closed over him, and the kind sea washed away every trace of his ugly end. Hancid, following the custom of his folk, had remained silent at the whale's side, offering only the comfort of his presence, for there are no words that can lighten that parting. Throughout the long watch the silkie had silently held station close to his friend. Now in the empty sea he sang the farewell song, then turned away southward. The sky was overcast, suiting his mood. He had no need of stars: his longing and love for his own folk would bring him home. The search was ended. Giersi, he felt sure, was being hidden from him by the intervening seas. It may be that he would never find her. But among the whales he had learned something which had led him beyond his love. He knew now that he could not swim alone - he too was a part of his people, and without him they were lessened. So Hancid returned at last, to play his part in the survival of the folk.