Two knobby-headed behemoths, their tail flukes almost the size of a ship, floated in a placid sea and observed him with unblinking eyes. A thrill shivered past his defenses. He’d only come face-to-face with water giants in Smokeland, never in the everyday. They wailed high-pitched long notes—a greeting? warning? question?

Djola displayed the silver-mesh glove and explained. “I’m practicing Xhalan Xhala.”

The behemoths sang again, rumbles and warbles that soothed his itchy skin. They ended with throaty chirps and a geyser of seawater. He offered one of Yari’s melodies to them. The behemoths swam closer. Shell-encrusted skin and tongues the size of elephants dazzled him. Their eyes were spots of light as they warbled and chirped.

He climbed out on the bowsprit, dangled over them, and sang. “You are the ocean and I am the air. The clouds are our children.” He mimicked their sounds as he ran out of words. One jumped close enough for him to touch cold skin. He filled himself with their oily chill. Shivering, he swung his legs up and climbed back to the deck. “Holding yesterday and today, I call tomorrow’s fire.”

Djola squinted his right eye at the catapult bowl used to hurl acid-conjure at merchant ships just hours ago. Caressing its waxed surface with the bare fingers of his left hand, he recalled the attack in vivid detail. Ships dissolved in his mind. Pain sliced him and stole balance. The bowl burst into flames. He wore a silver-mesh glove on his right hand and clutched the flaming bowl without burning flesh. The bowl turned to a puff of void-smoke. Dizzy and nauseous, Djola almost blacked out, dropping like a felled tree toward the deck.

A net broke his fall. Tangled in stiff threads was a letter with a resin seal. A sharp cathedral tree scent jolted him back to his senses. He patted his skull, surprised he hadn’t cracked himself open. He gripped the railing and vomited. The behemoths stood on their tails, flapping long pectoral fins. Cavernous mouths dripped foam and seaweed strings. Djola sputtered at this wonder. The behemoths dove back into black water and disappeared. A flick of their tails rocked the ship.

Singing the sea giant’s song, Djola grabbed the letter as it bounced free of the net. He hugged the scroll to his chest. It was damp and thick, a long tally of bad news. Why open that? He shoved it in his shirt.

16

River Children

Behemoths swim down the coastal waterway from one river delta to the next, escaping lightning storms and foul waters. Leagues and leagues they swim to reach cold waters to feed. More storms than ever churn up sour waves and tainted food. Many Behemoths have been hungry and sick. This water tastes good. Bubble nets are full, a good catch.