A Letter to the Luminous Deep

Chapter 1

Dear Scholar Clel,

Instead of reading further, I hope you will return this letter to its envelope or, better yet, crumple it into an abstract shape that might look quite at home on a coral reef.

I become exceedingly anxious around strangers, you see, and I dared only write this note after convincing myself that you would never read it. It is only now – when I can picture you disposing of these pages in some appropriately dramatic fashion – that I may continue my message without succumbing to Trepidation.

You do not know me at all, Scholar Clel, but after reading your most recent publication (as well as the four preceding it), I feel as though you have become a dear friend. I only wish a human companion ever brought me as much intellectual bliss as Your Natural History Companion does!

Surely you receive letters of this nature from eager readers all the time, though, so I will depart from flattery and approach the more pressing subject that inspired me to risk writing to you in the first place. As a Scholar of Classification, might you assist me from afar with an inquiry of relative import?

A few tides ago, I encountered a species unlike any I have ever seen. Lacking a name for such creatures, I dubbed them “Elongated Fish”. They cannot be Subtle Pipefish, as they do not possess needle-like “noses” and far surpass the approximate measurements you offered in your Appendix. (My Fish are also decidedly Unsubtle.) During my observation of the Fish, I noted the following additional traits: they are remarkably quick in the water, possibly crepuscular or nocturnal, and territorial to a fault.

Allow me to elaborate, if I may.

Yesterday, I sat by my window, watching glimmers of sunset from the surface dye the drop-off waters a stately purple. I do this sometimes when I feel most at odds with my Brain, you see, and find it quite effective. I was all alone – my sister Sophy recently departed on the Ridge expedition – though because you are also a Scholar, I assume you know about that expedition all too well – my apologies – and it was then that I witnessed a most unusual scene starring the Elongated Fish. Their colouring was a kind of magenta speckled with silver, but stretched almost transparent – like strands of hair about to break. Most bizarrely, their bulbous green eyes sat flat on the very tops of their heads rather than protruding in profile. From tip to tail, each measured longer than our house is tall.

O – my apologies again – I hoped to avoid boring you with biography, but I suppose the preceding paragraph might confuse you since you do not know where I live. You may have heard of the late, renowned Architect, Scholar Amiele Cidnosin – she who developed the first underwater dwelling, located a few hundred fathoms off-coast from your own Boundless Campus and colloquially called the “Deep House”. Well, she was my mother, and I colloquially call it “home”. While I am not a Scholar myself (and pray that you will forgive my boldness in writing to someone of your Academic prestige), perhaps you have encountered my esteemed sister Scholar Sophy Cidnosin (from the School of Observation at Boundless – o, I mentioned her just a few sentences ago, did I not?) or my (rather less) esteemed brother Apprentice Scholar Arvist Cidnosin. (Yes, our mother defied the typical Boundless custom and gave us what she deemed “Scholarly Virtue Names” – which we all promptly despised and altered. “Sophy” is short for Philosophy and “Arvist” (somehow) for Artistry. I dare not tell you my given name.)

Now you understand that I am uniquely privileged when it comes to observing marine life in its natural habitat.

I first noticed only one creature: a solitary ribbon lost in looping sojourns around the window. When she (?) first darted past my window I felt my heart vibrate. Her eyes rolled around in perfect circles as she executed repeated stalks – perhaps not quite grasping the presence of the glass that disqualified me as potential prey. (The sharks who frequent the waters just outside my chamber long since learned to ignore me.)

Some amount of time later – I found it hard to keep track of the hour – I marvelled at the moonbeams illuminating the Elongated Fish as she continued watching me. After ages of stillness, she flinched, folding and opening like a concertina. I assumed I startled her with my stirring until I spied an even larger creature pulsing its way around the house. As this second Elongated Fish sped closer, “my” Fish dashed towards the interloper, swirling into a furious helix. They wove around each other, tighter than thread. Tails choked necks and fins found wounds. I watched with rapt horror as they fell into the abyss below the drop-off together. Neither returned.

Now, considering your diverse experiences “in the field”, as it were, I suspect you will not find this encounter especially impressive – and I confess that my Elongated Fish can hardly compete with the Exceptional Squid Skirmish my family witnessed at the Deep House in Year 991 – but the novelty of these unfamiliar creatures struck me. I adore how each “Epilogue” of your books invites readers to stop by your Laboratory Anchorage at Boundless Campus to share news of unusual sightings with you, but circumstances prevent me from coming in person. Still, I would be most grateful if you would consider assessing my account of these creatures from afar.

That is, of course, assuming you did not do as I asked by destroying this letter without even reading it.

Sincerely,

E. Cidnosin

P.S. Allow me to apologise for the rudimentary sketch of the Elongated Fish that I enclosed. Please attribute any unforgivable errors to my non-existent professional training.

Dear Captain Clel,

Forgive this unexpected intrusion from your former “acquaintance-through-grief” – otherwise known as me, Sophy Cidnosin (well, Cidnorghe now, technically – as my wife and I are newly wed, we combined our family names in accordance with Boundless Campus custom).

If it helps, I also go by “E.’s sister”.

When you and I met for the first (and final) time – just after Henerey and E.’s disappearance – I promised “to keep in touch” in that vague, non-committal way that one so often does. Well, I come at last, a year later, to make that promise less empty. I do not wish to resurrect painful memories for you; rather, I hope that the contents of this package will provide some comfort.

After I lost E., I tasked myself with putting my sister’s belongings in order as a distraction. Even after the Deep House’s destruction, E.’s safe-box – a funny, waterproof little thing designed by our mother – survived intact, tucked into a crack in the coral bed. When the salvagers presented me with the safe-box just days after the explosion, I wasted no time (nor spared any expense) in hiring a locksmith to open it. I expected to find the box stuffed with drawings, rare books, curious shells, and perhaps a family photograph or two. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that my excessively introverted sister kept a cache of countless letters, the bulk of them dating from the period just before her disappearance – and sent by your brother.

I am a researcher by profession, Captain Clel. When I face a problem, I investigate all evidence and form a hypothesis. But it seems that my logical self vanished when E. did.

I did not ignore the safe-box entirely during those early days. I was not so far gone. I sorted through the box’s contents, arranging the letters into neat stacks on my desk for safekeeping. (Oddly enough, it was at this point that I found that daybook of Henerey’s I gave you when we met last year. Why, I wonder, would he store it in the safe-box and not take it with him?) Yet every time I thought about opening even a single letter, I felt half-sick.

My guilty conscience tormented me for tides as I resisted the urge to read E.’s personal documents. I considered destroying the papers that serve as her only physical remains – cramming them into a crucible in my wife’s laboratory, donating them to my brother in the guise of “mixed-media art supplies”, or sailing out to the vast trench in the sea that marks the site where our family home once stood and sending the letters to meet their maker. I suspect my sister may have preferred any of these more destructive options. She was quite a private soul. But, dear Captain Clel, I must confess that tragedy has equipped me with a new propensity for selfishness. I can ignore the lure of the letters no longer, even if that makes me a traitor to my own sister.

A few tides ago, then, I pledged to construct an archive of E.’s existence – which is to say that I have started looking through the letters at last. I realised, however, that my “records” have limitations. I may read only what E. received from others, not her own words (excluding those she sent to myself and our brother Arvist, of course, which I already possess). With the exception of this enclosed draft of her first letter to Henerey (which I intentionally placed before my letter in the package so as to pique your interest with mystery), I do not know anything about what she said to him.

My proposal, then: if you inherited your late brother’s personal effects and do not object, would you consider sharing some items of interest with me? Though I imagine the process might be devastatingly difficult, I do hope that together we may make sense of their final days – and feel more connected to them. (I have also included an ambitiously high number of coins in this envelope to cover your potential postal expenses.)

In archival solidarity,

Sophy Cidnorghe

Dear Scholar Cidnorghe,

I neglected your envelope. As soon as I recognised your name I felt rather overcome. My husband, Reiv, read everything you sent aloud to me. When we finished, he suggested that “sharing with [you] some of [my] feelings about Henerey might prove cathartic”, because he is from Intertidal Campus originally and believes that honest emotional expression is an essential act of self-maintenance.

He’s right, no doubt.

Your project offers the kind of cleansing that appeals to me. I’m not one for words. That was Henerey’s forte. But you are right to presume that I still possess every scrap of paper upon which he ever scribbled and every note he ever received from friend or colleague or stranger or enemy.

Unlike you, I have not touched his letters, nor felt any particular pull to do so. Unexpected deaths produce a museum’s worth of detritus. In the early days, a courier seemed to arrive every other hour with another box of Henerey’s things from his Anchorage room, his laboratory, his ship-quarters, or his carrel in the library.

I locked every box away without opening them. It seems we respond to grief in different ways. I feared (and still fear) that even the sight of his fashionable shirts or messy handwriting would break me.

But perhaps I need to break. With the support of my husband, I will start looking for things that fit within the timeline you wish to explore. In the meantime, if there is anything else you would like to send me, go ahead. I was intrigued when E. referred to your role on the Ridge expedition. “Ridge expedition” is a phrase you don’t hear thrown around much these days. Reiv and I used to read all the expedition missives together. Until they stopped, that is.

I have enclosed the cost of postage to reimburse you.

With gratitude,

Mr. Reiv especially Mr. Vyerin Clel

P.S. Can’t believe E. started this whole thing by sending him a letter out of the blue. He loved that, I’m sure. He also loved her – even surer.

Dear Vyerin,

Your reply made me feel so radiantly hopeful that I am writing back (as you well can see) just a day later – I trust you won’t mind. Many thanks to Reiv for reading you the letters and helping us begin this exciting partnership!

I look forward to seeing anything from E. that you uncover. O, I almost forgot – I also have Henerey’s first letter to E. for you, though she reread it so many times that it’s nearly falling apart in places. I shall endeavour to make a fair copy for our purposes. Additionally, because you seemed to take particular note of the Ridge expedition and my (unforgettable and regrettable) involvement therein, I shall also make fair copies of some correspondence between E. and myself from around that time period. Perhaps that will be of interest to you. If not, feel free to discard the copies as you see fit.

Enclosed you will find a sum suitable to cover the cost of many letters to come. If you wish, we may also correspond via Automated Post missives so that we can speak with greater speed (when it comes to any shorter questions or clarifications). My A.P. callsign for electronic communication is 2.02.CIDNORGHE.

Does that suit you?

With excitement,

Sophy

Dear Sophy,

Suits me very well. More to follow upon receipt of your package. Though I hate it on principle, I admit that Automated Post is far more efficient than waiting for letters to be delivered. (Still, I would wait any amount of time to get to know my brother a little better.)

Sincerely,

Vyerin

P.S. Reiv had to encourage me to write the above parenthetical. But that doesn’t make it any less genuine.