Page 2 of Guarded By the Kraken

It would take any kraken a day to swim across Thalassamur—which didn’t matter much, because every kraken in it could think at almost any other, and if your thoughts weren’t strong enough, if you were old or infirm, or if you needed to talk to many krakens at once, there were plenty of skilled countrymen who could act as amplifiers, shouting your message for you across the ’qa.

I avoided every kraken I could, sensing them far before they could sense me, doing my best to imitate the land around me, swimming in slow silence and getting my bearings—because every time you visited Thalassamur, it had changed.

It was almost impossible to create structures that could survive the ocean’s inexorable flow, and so few truly tried. Most kraken just had patches that they tended to, that they understood to be “theirs”, inasmuch as they could feel the thoughts of anyone coming upon them, and they built whatever home they found most pleasing at the time. Some didn’t build at all, others belted themselves to stones each night so they wouldn’t float away, some dug pits and breathed through sand, others lived in caves, created cairns of stone, or claimed vertical territory along steep walls.

But certain krakens attempted to create something real.

Some of few took their time and chiseled out pieces of living rock and carefully placed it, stone over stone, until they’d crafted the perfect home for their mate over years, building a place both tame and wild, as only the best gardens could possibly be.

And then one of those krakens discovered when they’d returned from their hunting party that their beautiful mate had been crushed beneath the stones they’d so lovingly arranged to shelter her, because she’d been unwilling to abandon their precious egg in the middle of an undersea tsunami.

Tsunamis were what the two-legged called them—something I’d found out when I’d been forced to interact with humans as a child.

Krakens called them the Killing Wave because of what they did to the sea floor.

And I knew if I thought on it for one moment longer I’d be found?—

“Cepharius?”

Another mind touched mine. I pulled in all of my sorrow like an eel pulling back into a burrow, trying to hide myself, but it was too late.

“Cepharius!”

And once my name was on the ’qa, there was no way to take it back.

“Cepharius is back!”

“Who is Cepharius?”

“Balesur’s brother!”

“Madron’s child!”

I felt myself pummeled with thoughts and joys and curiosity, and it took all my strength not to turn and swim back into the open sea.

“Please, stop,” I thought out in all directions. “I am only used to solitude.”

This did nothing to abate my countrymen.

“Shhh—”

“Leave him alone.”

“Everyone be quiet!”

“I am!”

“Stop saying things! He wants us to be?—”

“Cepharius.”

One sweet and calm thought cut through all the rest, quieting them instantly. Balesur’s mate, Sylinda, and I felt her mind flow towards mine along the ’qa. I focused on her at once, shutting out all the rest as best as I was able.

“Are you well?” I asked her. Her thoughts were not tinged with sorrow—so Balesur was alive, and their child too—which meant that I could go.

But then she found me in person, coming up from behind a mound of porous rock. She waved a hand at me in recognition, as the rest of her long tentacles swept beneath her in a calming blue. She swam up before I could retreat.

“Are you?” she asked of me in return, hovering just out of touching range.

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