A Silver Lining

Written by: Nikola Foršek (FFOS)

Issue 1 (March 2018)

“Can you hear that?”

“Hear what? Can’t hear nothing. Matter of fact, I can’t even smell nothing. Or see nothing. Now, shut it, and get that fire going, boy.”

As always, Father was right. In the absolute pitch darkness, we welcomed wholeheartedly what little of the fading sunshine could break through the thin fissures of the coal-black cave. But even something as mighty as the Sun – that colossal, bright, monstrous giant that had always stood above humankind, watching over them – had started to lose its force, and with each passing day its rays became more and more opaque, the radiant yellow luminescence now turning into a murky omen of these ill-fated days. Day by day, it faded away, until it became nothing more than a speck in the vastness of the overcast, gray sky. After a fortnight out on these putrid waters, our senses had become so dulled; even the briny smell of the sea had by now started to steadily lose its familiar scent. Or we may have simply forgotten the way it smelled altogether. We could still, however, hear it through the slight drizzling of water down the attenuated stalactites. But only barely.

Slowly, I once again became aware of the shallow, puny breathing of my Sister. So feeble was hear breath that you could hardly see the delicate rising and lowering of her chest. She was withering away, along with the dying sun. I instinctively dropped down to wipe the small beads of sweat which broke out on her fevered forehead.

Father’s neck jerked behind, and he shot a concerned look towards the pair of us.

“Reckon we gathered enough dry wood to start that fire. You do that. And watch over her. I’m gonna get us some food to eat.”

He always tried to sound as strong and sturdy as possible. But somewhere, in the back of his throat, he couldn’t hide that little tremble of worry in his voice. He knew I observed as much – that’s why he always turned his gaze away, whenever I caught glimpse of his baggy eyes. The old soul hiding within beamed, at times, through those strangely splendid, dark eyes.

Minutes felt like hours, until he finally returned – fish in hand. A miserable number of nasty-looking, transfigured fish which had managed to somehow propagate in the bay – but edible, nonetheless, and one of the few sources of nutrients we so desperately needed.

A worrisome look loomed over his face.

“One of them is out there.”

“Them? You mean…”

“Yes.”

A faint gasp escaped my sister’s frail throat.

“Still weak?” Father asked.

“Still weak.” I answered meekly.

“Go on. Get her up. Let’s give her something to eat.”

As we silently chewed through the gamy flesh and needle-like bones, Father spoke again.

“It’s one of them… fish people. Near the bedrocks. Nearly dead, I suppose.”

I exhaled deeply, in relief. Stories have been circling for a long time now, about these creatures, for a lack of a better word. Their existence grew into an old wives tale, until, quite recently, when they’ve made themselves very much known. Obscene in looks and aggressive in nature, people hid from them as much as they could. Laying eyes upon one of them was pure horror, supposedly – these malformations had the all the proper features of a human, but upwards, from their torso, a grayish, mucous skin hung from their deformed, rotting flesh. Completely deprived of any hair, bile oozed from almost every pore in their scale-like skin. Their strangely protracted jaws played host to a number of crooked, jagged teeth, all over and on top off each other. Their eyes were lidless – between them stood nothing but a gap, where one would usually find a nose, and their fingers were interconnected by some sort of a strange transparent membrane.

The fish people, as they called them, seemingly did not work in groups, and by themselves would largely fall victim to frightened mobs, hell-bent on surviving in these harsh conditions.

“We need to reinforce the raft. No time to lose. We need to move your sister as quickly as possible.”

*

After almost a month out on the open waters, traveling south, we were finally just one step away from saving Sister. Over, on the horizon, amidst all the karst, all the denuded bush, there stood a crummy shack, and inside – the only person with the right knowledge to help us. We found her.

Known simply as the Old Hag, she achieved her notoriety through the sheer enigma that surrounded everything she did. Some said she was a sorceress, others that she was a physician of sorts. Either way, it did not matter to my father and me in the slightest – as long as she would be able to help sister, she might as well be a magician, for all we cared.

Gliding through the riled water, next to the arid, rocky land, smoke started to arise to our right, drawing our gaze to a grisly sight. Piles upon piles of scorched carcasses of the fish people, their features now more indistinguishable than ever. I covered my mouth to block out the unbearable stench, looking away after noticing something that looked like a makeshift stake. Do these creatures deserve empathy? Did they deserve to end in such a way? I had been accustomed to look at them as nothing more than beasts, devoid of everything which was once human – but, looking at them this way, I was not, in the end, able to tone down my own empathy. Overwhelmed by a feeling of shame, I looked, once more, down on my sister. Her skin grew paler and paler with each passing moment.

“She’s growing cold, Dad.”

“Almost there, don’t you worry.”

Rowing erratically by now, we finally reached a small ferry. We climbed up eagerly, not minding the cuts and bruises the sharp rocks presented us with. We were too close now to be distracted by something as irrelevant as that.

In the midst of reefs, the land surrounding the hut seemed like an oasis of sorts, encircled by all sorts of greens and herbs. The doors creaked upon opening, and a strong, fragrant, sweet scent of brews and ointments bombarded our sense of smell, blocking out the reek of ash and smoke.

An old, hunched, timid-looking woman approached us through the threshold, her skin wrinkled, weather-beaten and tarnished. A glimmer flickered through her strikingly blue eyes, eyes reminiscent of that azure gleam the sea had lost all those years ago. The silver lining of the moonlight shimmered off the whites of the eyes, its gloss reflecting off the hoary hair, and her thin, but steady voice brought a strange kind of calm and reassurance to my Father and me, alleviating the tight knot I had been feeling in my gut for quite some time now.

“Bring her in.”

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