Listen to the Water | FULL SERIES | Wattys 2022 Shortlist | ✔

(33) Ande: Singing Stone

When we talked by the shrine at the start of this journey, they admitted that although they could tolerate the depths down here, they never fully adapted to them. They never mentioned it again. All this time, they haven't just been pushing through the residual injury from the attack in Rapal. They've been slowly falling to depth-sickness and hiding that, too. No wonder they look so exhausted.

"Does the healing song work on that?" I sign.

"I'm not sure. I think so?"

"Have you tried?"

Another wince. "I can't sing."

My eyebrows fly up. I had assumed that all competent Kels knew at least one magic-song. Even Makeba has proven that to me, and Sar is from a Kel people who rely on songs more than any other. If they'd told me they just didn't know the healing song, I'd have been surprised enough—it seems like a critically important one for anyone who guards others or spends time out in the ocean alone. Since Rapal, I've just been assuming they don't have the energy to spare for it. But to not sing at all?

Sar is avoiding my eyes. They tap their throat. "My voice doesn't work."

"From Arcas?"

"No. It never has." I can tell they're uncomfortable exposing themself like this. I can see why. "I've just learned to live without it."

"I don't see any problem." That's a lie. "Well, unless your people think it's a problem. I can't sing, either." I tap one ear. "I don't hear."

For the first time in this conversation, Sar looks at me again. Their hands are clenched loosely in their lap, twitching as they decide whether or not to keep talking. They want to. The question is whether they trust me enough.

"Do you have problems with that?" they sign at last. "With the singing."

"I mean, I really wish I knew the healing song. But I also haven't been in the ocean long enough to learn anything, so I can't really blame myself. And besides, most people only learn a few anyway. They rely on each other no matter what songs they know." Unless they're Taiki, who seems to know all the songs, ever. "I just rely on a few more people than most."

Sar looks down at their hands. "It's harder in the Sami-sana. Or maybe just Rapal. Everywhere else, I can just sign or write. Kels in Rapal expect you to know the strongest songs, or to keep your head down if you don't." Their eyes drift to the open water. Their last signs are so small, I nearly miss them. "Some Kels."

I suspect they're referring to Arcas. I also get the sense we're walking along the edge of a drop-off here, toeing the line between what's safe to talk about, and something much more raw. Sar's throat bobs in another hard swallow. This is going somewhere they don't want to go, a feeling confirmed as they hug themself again.

I change the subject. "Do you want to go back to sleep? I can keep watch."

I expect it to be an easy yes, but for the longest time, Sar doesn't answer. I can tell they're still exhausted. And if they can still hear the healing song coming from whatever-this-is behind us, their depth-sickness isn't gone. But they've also slept apart from Taiki and I ever since we all arrived on the silt plain, and I realize now that I don't know why.

"If it helps, I'm not armed," I sign with a weak smile. My heart stings again at the loss of my dagger. "I'm kind of useless at hurting anyone down here even if I wanted to... and I really don't." They still don't answer, so I try another angle. "I can also leave if that's more comfortable? I'm feeling better, so I could just go explore until you come find me again."

This time, they glance up. "Would you need help?"

"I mean, sure? But I'm fine starting alone if you need to rest."