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

(43) Taiki: Message-Fish

I get out before Ande can see me crying. I wanted that apology. It felt like it would change something, to have an Ashianti Kel—the real leader of the Ashianti Kels—apologize. And something did change. The aching part inside of me that searched for someone to blame for the disappearances of my people isn't aching anymore, but it's not healed. It's hollow. A gutted kind of hollow that eats further into me every time I look at Sar, and every time I try not to.

I wanted them to take the blame for the disappearances. They did, and it's only made me feel worse.

No other distraction I can turn to makes things any better. The evidence against Andalua is stacking up like Karu corals in a rich lagoon. The ocean is changing for the worse, and she might be changing with it. The islanders' failure to return to the ocean might be the cause, but might also just be exacerbating it. Ande is right that we need to know whether that fighting is the cause or the solution, and I know Roshaska is the best place to confirm it. I just need to think about that alone for a bit.

I need to think about a lot of things alone for a bit.

The water outside stretches endlessly to every side, making me shudder at the absence of silt beneath me. The surface is far enough away that its light has faded to a dull gleam. This fluctuates at odd angles where the waves part around... something. I fix my attention on it to avoid the empty, evening-darkening water and the scene I left behind. It's my habit now to forage for all of us as a way to make amends, and I think the thing at the surface is a log. I watch it for a long time to confirm its lack of predators, then begin to creep towards the surface.

The thing at the surface is a log. Seaweed-covered and nearly disintegrated, it swarms with fish fry and several larger fish that dash into hiding the moment I approach. It will take a lot to make those abandon their shelter. I target the seaweed first. It's an edible kind, so I pluck several long strands of it and knot them together before dropping them to sink to the top of the pinnacle we're sheltering on. Then I drift up among the fronds to see if I can ambush a fish. I've only just started, though, when a hum brushes my hand. Its sound flares in my head, and I whip my arm back. The fish that passed close to it darts away.

There's a message-song on that fish. I hone in on its carrier, quickly memorizing its species, size, and the scar pattern on its tail-fin. Then I begin to stalk it. It's a relay species. I didn't know we were along one of the relays—networks of reliable migration paths that anyone can catch a fish from and message-tag it before releasing it again. Any relay current here leads out into the Sami-sana.

I can't calm the fish or call it, and it's not a carnivorous species, either, so bait won't work. Falling back again, I wait for all the fish to resume their normal behavior. I haven't tried to catch them yet—just startled them—and they soon accustom to me. The one I'm aiming for drifts apart to forage. I edge my hand towards the algae patch it's aiming for, and its body brushes my hand. A stilted hum tickles my hearing. The touch is still too erratic for me to make out the words embedded within it. I can't even tell what language it is.

I need to catch the fish. I let go of the seaweed and let my second hand drift upward no faster than the fronds flow. When it's in position on the other side of the fish's feeding space, I tense both my arms. I'll only get one shot at this. When the fish gives a particularly adamant bite-twist, I lunge.

I catch it. The fish writhes furiously, as the message attached to its scales sings into my head in full and startling coherence. It's not Karu; the staccato tones of reef languages are always distinct. But it's not smooth, either. It's halfway between Sami and Karu, and from that alone, I know exactly what it is. This is the trade language the Sami and Karu developed back when they were still on good terms, generations ago. I don't know more than two words of it.