Grandmother’s Story, Part 3: Of Oceans and Rivers

“Once, epochs and days ago, there was a fish who fell into the sea. She was, I must admit, not a very nice fish, but a quite angry one.”

The boy stared out at the surface of the pond. After last night’s storm had scared all the clouds from the sky, there was nothing to stop the sun from beating down, and it seemed half the city had come to the pond—far from the bone and glass buildings that trapped the heat so—to cool off. Children were splashing in the shallows, and three small frogs, one red, one blue, one yellow, were croaking on a log (for now, as the blue one shall be eaten later) far across the pond. Baranthet and Grandmother sat on one of the flat stone rocks by the side of the pond, a picnic basket between them. Grandmother dipped her tail in the water, and as the ripples continued, so did the story.

“The angry fish really had no good reason to be angry, having experienced a completely normal life. She had hatched in a river, far inland, with hundreds, thousands of her friends. And some of her friends had been eaten soon thereafter, by frogs and birds and other fish, as is normal, as is nature. And as she swam to the sea, more of her friends had been eaten, as is normal, as is nature. Most creatures in the sea were not angry at this—you may as well bemoan the sun setting or the sighing of the tides—and so the angry fish kept her feelings to herself, but inside, she seethed.

“When she reached the sea, her school’s numbers had grown lesser, but she found other schools of fish, each coming down their own river, and they all swam together, exploring the reefs and shelves and trenches. And as they did, every so often, some would be eaten by a shark or a squid or a ponguzoan, as is normal, as is nature, and the angry fish had to seethe in silence.

“One day, though, a shadow fell over the water, from a great wood-and-metal ship from above. Nets fell, catching hundreds of fish, far more than the great ship could have possibly needed to eat, and metal harpoons pierced the sea, skewering hundreds more, just like you’re doing to those poor grapes on your claw right now even when you know I’ve asked you nicely several times not to play with your food.”

The boy turned, sheepish, from placing alternating layers of fruit and cheese onto his pinky claw. But in truth, Baranthet had lost his appetite, a bit. He wasn’t sure he liked this part of the story as much as the last two. He used another claw to scrape his food back onto the napkin, then rinsed his hands in the water. “What happened then? Did the fish go to the warden?”

Art by Mayra Luna

“She did, for the Warden of Oceans and Rivers, like all wardens, had great power to suit their great size. They could shape the sea and waves however they liked, just as the other wardens could do in their domains, and with this, the angry fish knew that the warden would—”

“They’d maybe make a big wave to push the hunters away? Or make it so the fishes could swim away faster with the tide? Or maybe even make an iceberg to hide behind?” Baranthet’s head raced with the ways that a kind warden might be able to help, but Grandmother let out a sigh, a sad one.

“No, Baranthet, for it is the duty of a warden to protect the creatures under their charge and defend them against the depredations of those who abuse them, and the Warden of Oceans and Rivers was nothing if not thorough.”

In the distance, across the pond, a heron dove at the frogs on the log, and though two leapt into the water quickly, the blue frog was not so lucky, and it disappeared down the heron’s maw, never to sing again.

“They slaughtered the hunters to the last, in a battle much too graphic for your young ears. But when it was done, the seas were safe, and the angry fish resolved to follow the warden forevermore.

“And ever since that day, after every Migration, the Warden of Oceans and Rivers has always been one who tolerates no slight against their wards, no incursion into their domain, and no hunter who takes with undue cruelty. Remember, Baranthet, that for all their splendor, the animals of nature are wild and fierce, and so their boundaries and territories must be respected, for they will defend their realms with tooth and claw, spark and venom and even magic.”

The boy gulped.

“Don’t worry, Baranthet, that’s probably the worst the story gets. Why, the last warden is one I’m sure will cheer you up as much as this warm sunlight!” And with that, Grandmother jumped into the pond to cool off with a splash that sent a wave of cold water over the boy’s head. Her head emerged soon after and she shook more drops from her head spines Baranthet’s way.

“But that, my little explorer, is a story for another day.”

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Grandmother

For the first chapter in Grandmother’s story, click here.

For yesterday's chapter, click here.

For the next chapter in Grandmother’s story, click here.