Lystra Wrote

Chapter 3

The gulls were the first to find them, their shrieking calls bringing Bohok out of his sorrowful state of mind.  Bohok once again looked at the great dead beast and made his decision; he had to tell the tribe.  He untied the rope from his hand and let it fall to the ground. He gave the creature one last look, turned, and dove into the river. Swam quickly to the other side and started running, not even bothering to shake dry before he started.

It was a long run back to the tribe. He had been in exile all summer. He had camped alone on the banks of the river waiting for the travelling fish to come up stream and with them his redemption. He had gone as far downstream as he dared without infringing upon the territory of the Root-Eaters.  It was almost dark by the time Bohok saw the smoke rising from the scattered cook fires of the Fish-Eater village.

The village was settled into a small glade cut by a stream which provided fresh water to the tribe before it joined with the great river. Bohok looked down at the village with apprehension. He had been cast out of this place, forbidden to return by the edict of Chief Yoosin himself. Without the first travelling fish or Chief Yoosin’s pardon he could be killed by any Fish-Eater as a stranger and an outlaw.  Bohok knew the sweat breaking on his forehead wasn’t entirely from his long run.

He took a second to gather his breath and his nerve before walking down the well beaten path towards the village. He had decided what he would do; it was too late to turn back now. Bohok swallowed his fear and walked into the village.

As Bohok walked past the first wicker house he admired the craftsmanship. He had been gone so long that it was like he was seeing the work for the first time. The Fish-Eaters weaved willow branches into everything. They made baskets, and bowls, as did all the peoples, but they also made more elaborate items. A Fish-Eater house was made of willow mats weaved so tight that it was impervious to all but the hardest of rains and the strongest of winds. They made looser mats in the winter to lay over the ground to keep people from sinking into the mud and snow.  Bohok had even seen smaller versions that strapped to feet and allowed the wearers to walk on top of the deepest snows. Especially skilled weavers could make fantastic items; like duck decoys that floated in the water to attract their kinsman close enough to have a net cast over them. Bohok had taken the wicker shelters for granted until he had to weather a summer thunderstorm alone with only his hide blankets to keep the rain off his head.

As he made his way through the outskirts of the village the children began to gather around him at a safe distance. He could hear their whispers as he marched toward the center of the village. He heard excitement in their hushed voices. Something was going to happen, but the children could only speculate as to what that would be.

He made his way through the village catching the eyes of both wives and their husbands cooking their dinners on the fires in front of their homes. Soon many grown men joined the crowd of children following him. They did not try to stop him, nor did they whisper among themselves they simply followed Bohok, silent and stern.

When Bohok neared the center of the village he saw the great house. It was made of logs stacked up atop of each other instead of wicker. The house was large enough to fit the entire clan within its walls. All the men of the village worked together to maintain it and the people used it as a meeting place and a sanctuary from the strongest winter storms. It housed Chief Yoosin, and his wife and family, but they only used a quarter of the structure.

In front of the great house there was a large fire pit. The fire pit was surrounded by semi circles of log benches. This was the fisherman’s fire, the communal gathering place and the site of Bohok’s ignominy.

Chief Yoosin stood in the center of the fire pit stacking logs for the night’s fire over a bed of kindling.  It was the chief’s duty to prepare and light the communal fire and Bohok knew that the old chief took great pride in only lighting his fires once.  The chief was strong for a man his age; his muscles were well defined as he stacked heavy logs atop each other. He was so engrossed in his work he did not notice Bohok, or the crowd surrounding him. Bohok stood silently watching the chief work not daring to disturb him.

The chief finished his work and then straightened putting his hands on his lower back stretching out the tight muscles. Without turning the chief spoke, “What brings you back to the people young Bohok?”

Bohok stood silent for a moment; he was sure that he never saw the chief’s eyes turn from the fire pit. How did he know he was there? “I, um,” Bohok started he began to feel foolish for coming here, and he didn’t know how to explain what had seen. “I came here to tell you that there was a great fish in the river, bigger than any fish I have ever seen before.”

The crowd exploded into a roar of nervous laughter. Bohok slouched; he had known that they would laugh at him. Nobody would believe his tale until he showed them the fish, of course they would laugh; he would have laughed. He had thought he had prepared himself for it but the laughter stung nonetheless.

The chief turned to look at him; his eyes were not mirthful but curious. He held up a hand and the laughter stopped abruptly.   “A great fish you say.” The chief said. “Describe this fish to me.”

“He is all black except for his belly and huge,” He spread his arms as wide as he they could go.

“A sturgeon!” A familiar voice called out from behind Bohok. “He caught a sturgeon and he comes to brag. We’ve all caught sturgeon longer than our boats. It is no great feat.”

Bohok turned to face Kirso, red flashing before his eyes, but he controlled his temper. “This is no sturgeon.” He spat, then turned back to the chief. “It isn’t a sturgeon.” He repeated. “It is as big as your house, bigger maybe, it is the biggest thing I have ever seen.”

The chief looked at Bohok pensively for a moment then asked, “Does it breathe air?”

The crowd exploded into another roar of laughter. The people thought that the chief was teasing Bohok for his lies but Bohok suddenly knew that the chief knew better. “Yes.” He said loudly “Well it did before it died.”

“Where did it breathe from?” The chief asked.

“From the top of his head.” Bohok answered.

“I have heard of these fish.” The chief spoke to his people, ending their laughter abruptly.  He waited until the crowd was completely silent then he asked Bohok. “Where is the fish now?”

“On the sandbar beyond the last deep channel.” Bohok spoke into stunned silence then added. “Where I caught him.”

“You caught the great fish?”

“My net is still around his head.”

The chief walked up to Bohok and looked him in the eye. Their gazes locked for a moment. Bohok felt the same uneasy feeling he had when he was looking the dying beast in the eye, except he felt like the one who was dying now, the one who couldn’t breathe. Finally the chief spoke, “You must take us to him.”

Chapter 1

The river was freezing, even this late in the summer the water was fed by glaciers high in the mountains and never truly lost its chill. Bohok climbed up onto the sandbar and did his best to shake off the water. Soon the sun would warm the black sand and the shallow water surrounding it but now the sand squishing up between his toes was as cold as the surrounding waters.

The swim had been miserable but necessary. The best place to catch fish was in the deep channel along the sandbar. The river was too low everywhere else for his nets to work properly.

The sun was slowly peeking over the mountains to the east as he readied his nets. His father had told him once that the hour before the sun rose was the coldest of the day, as his quaking fingers tried to untangle the fine ropes of the his nets he believed it. He could hear his teeth chattering over the rushing waters around him.

With his nets straitened and untangled Bohok tossed them expertly into the river just beyond a series of ripples and into the deep water beyond. He hauled in the nets hand over hand then examined the contents. Several yellow perch and two decent sized trout struggled within the confines of the net. Disgusted, Bohok reopened the net and tossed the fish back into the river. While all the fish were large enough to make a meal it wasn’t what Bohok was after.

The travelling fish were going to return soon. They always did this time of year. Bright red and hook jawed they came up the river in endless hordes.  Their arrival marked a time of plenty for the Fish-Eaters, who relied on the spawn to feed them through the winter.

While the fish always came around the same time each year the fisherman who brought home the first traveler was honored by the tribe and granted a boon from the chief. It was that honor and that promise that had pulled young Bohok from his warm blankets before the sun rose everyday for the last two weeks.  He was determined to be the first to bring a travelling fish to Chief Yoosin.

He heaved the heavy nets back into the current and repeated the haul. He would repeat it all day if he had to; repeat it for as many days as he had to. It was the only way he could erase the stain of his heritage, and he would not fail.

His body was strong and his muscles were used to the labor of hauling the nets. It didn’t truly seem like work anymore. His calloused hands hardly ever bled anymore; they were nearly impervious to the scourging ropes and lines. The rhythmic action of throwing, hauling and dumping allowed his mind to wander as he worked his nets.

He thought about the reaction of the chief when he arrived with the first traveler.  All the other men of the village would be so surprised when a half blood brought home such a prize. He would finally end his isolation and torment.

With his mind adrift he didn’t notice the black form making its way up the deep channel. He tossed his net out with a great heave, smiling to himself when he saw the distance of his throw.  As he began to retrieve the net the line went taught in his hand. His first instinct was to wrap the line around his hand and yank as hard as he could. The net had obviously caught on a rock or a branch. He quietly prayed it was something he could pull the net off of from the shore. He dreaded having to dive into the frigid waters to untangle the net from a log.

He was taken aback when the rope pulled back on him, hard. It snapped his arm out straight and his heels dug furrows into the sand. Bohok struggled against the pull of the rope, the fisherman suddenly becoming the fished. The rope slackened for a moment then pulled again. He was yanked off his feet and fell face first into the river.

Under the water Bohok could see what his net had caught, but he couldn’t believe his eyes. The creature was massive; its body almost taking up the entirety of the channel. He looked up and saw that his net barely covered the tip of the monster’s nose. It was a fish, he thought, as he looked down its dark length but different from any fish he had ever seen. Its gargantuan tail was sideways and moved up and down rather than side to side. Each powerful stroke pulled Bohok through the water at astonishing speed. The fins on each side of the creature were huge and flapped like eagle’s wings in the water.

Bohok was so stunned by the great beast that he only remembered he needed to breathe when the burning in his lungs became so unbearable that it felt like there was a weight on his chest.  Frantically he kicked for the surface, trying to move up the current in the direction the rope was pulling him.

He gasped for air when he broke the surface of the water and saw that the creature too had come above the water.  A huge gout of water streamed from the top of its head.  Bohok saw its body expand and heard the rush of air being sucked into the creature.  It breathes air, he thought, as he struggled to stay atop the water.

 The current and the speed of the creature fighting against it pulled him closer and closer to the beast. Bohok was a strong swimmer, like most Fish-Eaters he spent much of his life in the water, but he couldn’t keep himself from being pulled into the beast. 

A bare foot touched it first. Its body was smooth and hard, like wet stone.  Bohok put both feet against it and pushed off, pulling in rope as it slackened. It was like climbing a cliff, only sideways. Slowly he began to pull himself up to the nose of the creature. He had to untangle his net, it was his only hope.

He climbed for all he was worth; kicking off the creature each time they were pulled back together. 

Then he saw the creature’s eye, and the creature saw him. The eye was bigger than Bohok’s head, and was like no fish eye he had ever seen. The eye had depth to it; it was like looking into a man’s eye. Bohok saw fear in those eyes; fear deep enough to match Bohok’s own. 

He stood transfixed; staring into the beast’s eye until he heard and felt a rumbling. The river channel was getting shallower; too shallow for such a massive creature, its belly was scraping along the rough bottom. Its eye widened even farther, Bohok saw a look of utter terror.

He saw the tail of the beast rise high above the water then come down with tremendous force.  He was knocked off his feet as the creature rose into the air then came crashing down. Not into the river but up onto the sand bar.

Bohok too landed on the sandbar; the force of the fall knocking the wind out of him. Fighting to breathe he rolled away from the creature as fast as he could, terrified that it too may roll and smash him into the sand. 

Once he had rolled clear of the beast and as far as the rope that tethered them together would allow Bohok let his head sink into the sand and he lay panting and exhausted.

Finally he looked up. The great fish had flung itself almost completely out of the water. Its tail and fins were flapping uselessly in the air; the flippers had dug deep trenches in the sand to either side of it. Bohok could see the sides of the creature expand and contract in panicked breaths. He picked himself up and walked back up to the beast’s head. The fear in its eye was gone; it was replaced with despair and sorrow. Bohok reached out a hand and placed against the creature. He could feel each shuddering breath; he could hear each breath roar from the hole in the top of its head.

Bohok didn’t know what to do. He knew the creature was dying, each breath became more ragged and labored. He didn’t know why a creature who obviously breathed air couldn’t live on land, but it couldn’t.  It took a long time; the sun reached its zenith above his head. It burned down upon Bohok’s skin but he did not move. He felt like the creature was trying to talk to him, communicate with him somehow as they gazed at each other. He wondered what it would have told him if it could talk.

Even without words the connection was stronger than any Bohok had known since he watched his own father die of the fever so many years ago. He stood there, his hand resting on that hard smooth skin, staring into that sorrowful gaze until the breathing stopped; the great eye closed, then Bohok kneeled in the sand and cried.