Chapter Fifty-Five Finlyr
chapter fifty-five
finlyr
‘Isagani,’ I say, reaching for them in the darkness. They find my hand, and we breathe together, and I try not to cough through the foulness.
I listen as the rocks finally settle, muffled voices on the other side of the wall.
‘Wait, where did they go?’ Isagani asks, scrabbling at the rock.
‘They must be looking for another way out,’ I insist, hauling us to our feet. I scrutinise Isagani, checking their scratches and bruises. ‘Are you hurt?’
Isagani shakes their head, wiping the dirt from their eyes. ‘Let’s look around.’
Sinigang scours the walls, limping. ‘There’s no telling where any of these passages lead, if they lead anywhere.’
‘Will you be all right?’ I ask Sinigang, gently taking his paw in my hand. I brush away the fur to see his skin better, although that’s futile in this lack of light. There’s a gloaming light under the dust, but the darkness flattens everything, distance impossible to tell without touch.
The otter-cat closes his eyes slowly, more weary than in pain. After a moment he raises his head, ears flicking.
‘Do you hear that?’ he asks, walking away and following something we can’t sense.
I get low and follow. I can’t hear what he hears, but the air is less foul. It’s almost bittersweet, something I can’t quite place. It’s fresher, a memory of something warm, something alive.
‘What do you hear?’ Isagani asks quietly.
‘A song,’ Sinigang says. His pupils are dilated, and he straightens up, walking with purpose, limp entirely gone. He pads over to the edge of the pool.
‘Please don’t tell me you’re proposing going back in there?’ I ask, staring into the dark abyss. Some of the fallen stalactites float on the surface. ‘That cave almost cost us our lives.’
‘You forget, I’m part otter,’ Sinigang says calmly.
‘Yes, but you don’t have gills,’ I snap back.
‘I can hold my breath four times longer than you humans.’
‘That’s very helpful for us,’ Isagani mutters.
‘If you ask nicely I’ll share my air,’ Sinigang grins.
‘Can you stop fucking around?’ I say through gritted teeth.
‘I’m not,’ Sinigang says, his eyes glinting in the half-light. ‘We can’t help the others. We have to try and find our own way out of here. This is the only way I can sense.’
‘It’s black as night down there,’ I insist. ‘Full dark, freezing cold. Kick up silt and you’re dead.’
‘What do we follow then?’ Isagani asks, worrying the inside of their cheek. ‘We could swim in circles in the dark until we run out of air.’
Sinigang stills his swishing tail and nods. ‘Hold our breath and follow the song. I’ll lead and help as best I can.’
I sigh, and the sound echoes a little, showing me how small our space – and therefore air supply – truly is.
‘What do you want to do, Isagani?’
Isagani kneels by the pool, looking at their hazy reflection in the water. Bioluminescent creatures swim in the water, and glow worms make their homes in the rock holes.
‘We can’t stay here forever,’ they say with a decided tone. ‘When I said I wanted an adventure, I didn’t think I would live long enough for the terror to set in.’
We take the plunge, Sinigang leading down into the gloaming.
I open my eyes to salt water and brace, squinting to follow the otter-cat, lithe in the water, a dark mound of undulating fur and bubbles.
Isagani and I hold hands, despite how awkward it is while swimming.
I won’t lose that kid. I won’t lose any of them.
The seabed is littered with giant clams. I try not to stray too close as they open their jaws, exposing their fleshy insides, supremely yonic in their look.
Then I spot it. Within the clam, large milky ridged spheres.
Pearls. I see Isagani, mesmerised. We drift towards it, the clam’s stream of bubbles enveloping us.
We could trade these for comfort, protection.
A soft and easy life. Isagani reaches out their hand, not with the feather touch of a fingersmith, but of a curious child, who will only be placated by just a little touch.
The clam’s jaws snap shut, and Isagani startles back.
I drag them away and Sinigang is waiting, irritated.
He blows an air bubble into the water, and it grows, enveloping our heads.
We gasp in lungfuls of air. It’s stale and fishy but I’ll take anything.
‘I had no idea otter-cats could do that,’ Isagani says.
‘We keep our secrets close. Careful, it will only last a short while,’ Sinigang warns.
As we dive further, I start to make out the sound Sinigang caught on the surface.
It’s a chittering punctuated by humming and an ethereal whisper.
It pulses, sending ripples through water.
My muscles spasm, and my bones vibrate with the sound.
It’s not wholly unpleasant, my body tingling like my lips after a spicy broth.
It’s as though bees are in my head, and I follow it down, through the maw of caverns and blue holes.
The resonance frequency feels as though it’s crushing my ribs down onto my lungs.
It may be the underwater pressure, but my muscles are enlivened and abused by it, pulses sharp and bright in my whole being.
Large dark shapes move in the water below us – flying, writhing masses. They hum, deep throbbing sounds that rattle my bones.
I kick desperately upwards, trying to find the water’s surface.
Wet mulch, slippery to the touch. It’s in my eyes and mouth.
Like hot wax sinking into my face. There’s a milky froth, like dirty sea foam.
I push, feeling the squelch of something giving way.
Then we emerge into an air bubble, and I’m gasping and hacking mulch. I grab for the floating mass beside me.
‘Don’t touch it,’ Sinigang warns, paddling to my side.
I let go of the mass and it floats away.
‘What is that?’ Isagani asks, treading water close by.
‘The drowned dead can weigh you down,’ Sinigang warns. ‘Don’t join their multitude.’
We haul ourselves out onto a narrow ledge nearby, collapsing with the effort of it, the glow worms our only company.
I think about our undead crew, only bones now, and how easily we could become one of the dead.
I slow my breathing, thinking of the limited air supply, even here, everywhere in these caves.
Sinigang might be able to help us in the water, but it is a reusing of an existing supply.
‘What were all those dark shapes down there?’ Isagani eventually asks.
Sinigang shudders. ‘Understand this: the ocean is a bath full of monsters.’
Isagani grunts, then raises their head. ‘What did we follow? Will it lead us to the treasure?’
I’m in too much pain to hope. Life itself feels like a treasure at this point. My only hope is that we can find the others and get out of here.
I lie on my back for a moment longer. Ice shards threaten overhead.
No, not ice – crystals, precious and sharp as daggers.
I shudder to think of the stalactites and the cave collapse.
That was a narrow escape. The song gets louder now we’re out of the water.
It takes on a melody, dissonant and melancholic.
It’s haunting, lapping over itself, repeating, echoing and harmonising.
My limbs are heavy, and I’m rooted to the spot.
There’s a spasm in my heart, a tugging at the muscle, like a cramp or a seizure.
I cry out, the sound cutting through the song.
The singing stops, and Isagani and I slowly crawl up onto our knees. Sinigang drags us up by the damp clothing sticking to our skin. He gives us a, perhaps deliberate, nip to check we still have life in our limbs.
Sinigang’s ears perk up, fur standing on end as he arches his back.
I follow his gaze to something in the middle of the cavern.
It opens its arms, no, its wingspan, feathers fluttering in the movement.
Gold and reds, and colours I can’t name, couldn’t see before.
The beast is as tall as the cavern, as though it has grown to fill the space.
Its eyes are huge and terrified, the pupils darting between each of us in turn.
‘What is that thing?’ I ask, unable to tear my eyes away.
It opens its throat, and the wailing song pours out.
It’s the sound of my heart tugging at my breastbone, a thousand hurts and hopes tangled like a ball of wool.
The song pulls each out slowly, dragging me forwards towards the creature.
The bird wraps its mighty wings around an egg in the centre of collected detritus.
It turns its face away from us and sings to the egg, now a gentle and soporific tune.
No, not an egg. Something curled into a ball, fast asleep in its feathers.
A small girl in a tattered dress and one shoe, dark hair strewn over its talons: Biba.