I don’t know how deep we’ve gone until the multukwu begin to glow. The light radiates softly at first, like a barely kindled fire, and I blink hard, thinking I might be imagining it after so many minutes of solid, swirling blackness. But the glow emerges from other parts of the deep as well: three or four other bits of light in the dark that get brighter every second. Soon enough I can see my own hands, the many strange plants and formations growing from the floor beneath us, their fronds swaying with the breath of deep water: that’s when I realize the glow is coming from the multukwu. And that’s when I realize there are many more than the three who carry me, Alma, and Rondo.
Dozens of them, the soft yellowish light emanating from them like floating torches. The deeper we dive, closer to the population of multukwu, the brighter the light is, illuminating the entire area in a dusk-like glow, revealing the bedrock, the bottom of this immense body of water.
Bioluminescence, I think.
Yes, Kimbullettican says. They make many things. Including light.
Some of the multukwu are grazing on the swaying plants; others are busying themselves with what I can only assume is tunneling. Their tentacles are prehensile: many of them clutch some kind of tool that they use for the chipping away of bedrock, the dust swelling in slow clouds before gradually sinking to the floor. I want to be sure Alma and Rondo are seeing this, but they’re too far on either side of me, and they probably wouldn’t be able to hear me anyway.
The Artery feels different down here as we move effortlessly through the water. Harder to grip, somehow, like the connections with other organisms’ consciousness are as slippery as the algae-covered stones must be.
Are you there? I say, looking for Kimbullettican.
A moment passes, the bizarre sensation of cold water rushing over my suit-covered face. Then an answer: Yes, I am nearby. I am using this opportunity to speak with the multukwu. They are digging a new tunnel I was not aware of.
There’s a flash of movement to my right, and when I turn my head I catch sight of Alma waving an arm in my direction. It’s hard to tell because of the blur of the transparent mask over her features, but I think she’s smiling. Rondo is closer to me and I can definitely make out his teeth through the transparent blur of his suit. Remembering the easy way he had adapted to the water makes me smile too, but it fades almost as soon as it appears on my lips—there is so much more to this world than what we had been exposed to in N’Terra. But this may be the last time anyone human ever witnesses what we are witnessing right now.
The multukwu are sensing a shift as well, comes Kimbullettican’s presence in the Artery. Perhaps due to the violence on land. Many small plants at the bottom of the water are retreating into the bedrock. Sealing themselves the way the syca we encountered has done.
This is what Rasimbukar meant when she said war has grave consequences on Faloiv, I reply.
Yes. They pause, and I finally catch sight of them ahead, moving easily through the water with long powerful strokes of their paw-like hands. There is a delicate balance on our planet. My people have been responsible for maintaining much of it, but we can’t control everything.
So they’re making a new tunnel . . . for what exactly?
I am not entirely sure. I believe they are seeking to make a secure cavern in the event of catastrophe.
Alma and the multukwu who carries her seem to be getting along well, despite their inability to communicate. The multukwu swims in spirals, dipping between tall towers rising from the bedrock that could be either some kind of stationary underwater life or the fossilized remains of them. I get a flash of Alma’s smile as they rise again, swimming faster and faster. The powerful back flipper of the multukwu pumps hard, sending waves of bubbles in all directions as they continue their game.
The multukwu carrying Rondo decides to join in the amusement. It whizzes forward, more bubbles exploding. They dip and dart together, weaving in and out of plant clusters as massive as some of the trees on land, moving ever forward on the route that they know intimately. We are making our way through a tunnel, I realize: the endless dense blue above has transitioned into stone, a ceiling that I can make out from the glow provided by the multukwu’s bodies. There are many fewer of them here than in the open area we have just left, but the light remains, emanating from various plants and, it seems, massive shells set into the walls of the tunnel.
Do those occur naturally? I ask, pointing at the shells. A piece of algae whizzing by wraps around my finger. I keep it, exploring its texture as we continue swimming.
No. Those were implanted by the multukwu for the benefit of the Faloii. We have acquired many traits that enable us to be comfortable for periods of time under the water, but we still need our eyes in ways they do not.
Fascinating, I say.
I suppose it is.
Another wave of bubbles erupts just ahead as the multukwu carrying Rondo and Alma zoom through a structure appearing to be made of shell but which I quickly realize is the skeleton of a very large organism. They weave in between the bones, zigzagging like children. I catch sight of one of the multukwu’s faces and the delight is as apparent in their bright brown eyes as in my friends’. I smile as the group of them disappears through a thick cluster of swaying plants, lost to my eyes as they play tag deeper in the underwater jungle.
When they come racing out, I’m still smiling, assuming the game is still under way. But the glimpse I catch of the multukwu’s faces sobers me immediately. Something is wrong. Behind them, among the wave of bubbles in their wake, is an inky black cloud, creeping through the water like a stain.
Kimbullettican doesn’t speak—they don’t need to. The lance of fear that surges through the Artery is sharp and unmistakable, like a strike of lightning through the dense blue water. I sense the same from the multukwu, confusion and fear braided together and cracking through the tunnel.
Something is wrong, Kimbullettican says, and then I sense them communicating with the three multukwu, the two carrying Rondo and Alma clustered close to us now. Rondo and Alma have already seen whatever there was to be seen: the smiles are robbed from their faces, Rondo gripping the tentacles holding him with both hands. He’s trying to say something to me, and Alma is saying something to him. Their voices are too small beneath the mass of the water—I can only read their fear and translate it into my own terror.
More than theirs, it’s Kimbullettican’s fear that infects me. And then there’s the presence that lurks in the tunnel, fading in and out of my mind’s reach. It’s not a matter of distance. Whatever the presence is, it is testing the Artery, weaving in and out of obscurity, peering in at those in the tunnel before sealing itself off, and then peering in again. It feels restless, unsure. But above all else, it is hungry.
Into the bones, Kimbullettican says, but the multukwu have already decided this is their plan of action and dart forward, still bearing Rondo and Alma, toward the skull of the massive skeleton that had been their recreation area only moments before. They squeeze through what had once been the eye caverns, and the multukwu carrying me is close on their flippers. I cross my arms over my chest as we go through, but the tips of my shoes still brush against the bone, leaving a small cloud of dust that Kimbullettican swims straight through when they enter the skull behind us. We all float in this small dark space, and I try not to think about how this animal died, how we hide where its brain was once housed. I focus on the water beyond our shelter, still glowing beautifully with the light from the shells on the tunnel wall, the floating shadows of algae and other plant matter occasionally stirring my heart into a frenzy. Like Rondo I clutch the tentacles securing me against the body of the multukwu, and the strong muscle feels even stiffer than before. I don’t care to widen the Artery to peer inside: if whatever is lurking outside the skull within the cover of the thicket of plants is using the tunnel to track us, I need to be silent in every possible way.
All three multukwu move backward at the same moment the swaying plants part. It’s an instinctual synchronization, their bodies becoming muscle as whatever they see fills them with dread. I see nothing. Only the continuous motion of the water through the tunnel, a gently tugging current I had not felt until unmoving within the skull, alerts me to any motion, plants and debris floating along in the same direction as if of their own volition. It’s not until a small school of unidentifiable fish pass by our hiding place that I see what they see.
A long, bulky shape darts from the cover of the plants faster than something so large should be able to move. It’s dark blue, almost invisible in the water, its flesh dappled all over with a powdering of white-gray speckles. It blends in almost perfectly with the fragments of floating sand and minerals, as if a bit of the ocean had decided to grow muscle and come together to hunt.
Because it is certainly hunting.
It’s upon the school of pale red fish before they can scatter, and although many of them escape, many more are locked within the trap of its jaws. I have no idea if it even chews, if it needs to. The teeth are the only thing that don’t blend, white as hot stars and serrated. I watch wide-eyed as the teeth are obscured by the deep blue mouth, rendering it invisible once more. But it doesn’t appear satisfied; it skulks back and forth, its shape not fully visible due to its camouflage. I can make out four legs and perhaps three fins—it doesn’t appear to have eyes.
Until the eyes are on us.
The eyes are almost transparent, milky white with a tinge of pink. Sightless, one might think, if they were not so clearly trained on you. They look right at us. Maybe one of the multukwu had chanced a look in the Artery, perhaps it was Kimbullettican. Perhaps it was me, unschooled and sloppy in the ways of sealing myself off from the network of Faloiv. Whoever had done it, the creature had heard, and it moves toward the skull we hide within with alarming speed. The water does not lend grace to all animals: it scrabbles through the water toward us in a terrifying way, as if its plan is to attack the whole skull. I grip the tentacles holding me even tighter, and I notice them squeeze me back.
The creature gives one last powerful propulsion through the water to reach the skull, extending all four of its legs to grip it. It ends up slightly upside down, its body on the top of the skull and its face and neck peering down, crooked, into the eye we hide within. It won’t fit, I tell myself. It’s too big. Much bigger than the multukwu, and we had to squeeze into the eye cavern. Too big, I tell myself. We are safe. We are safe. The madness of it makes my own skull hurt. Based on those teeth, this animal is a carnivore. The multukwu are herbivores. Predators only hunt other predators on Faloiv. It makes no sense that the multukwu should be prey in this moment.
The creature’s eyes roll wildly around in its sockets, taking in each of us. The jaws part slightly, revealing the teeth, stark white against the dark flesh, only the tips visible and not fully bared. It seems undecided, one moment shoving its snout toward the skull’s opening and the next withdrawing, changing its position on the bone above, rocking the whole thing with its bulk. My feet, I find, can reach the floor of the skull, and I brace them there.
A sound travels through the water. Not a true sound, as I would hear it on land, but the distorted echo of noise, a clicking accompanying it. It’s coming from the creature, I’m sure of it. The three multukwu withdraw even farther, nearly pressing against the back of the skull. What is the sound the creature is making? I imagine it hailing an entire group of its kin, calling them to help crack the skull open and consume us. The idea of waiting for the pack of the near-invisible predators to come prowling out of the algae is too much, and I slowly widen the Artery to see if I can learn what its plan is. Perhaps there is a chance of escape. . . .
Kimbullettican is already in the Artery, communicating with the creature. As usual, I can’t decipher the language being spoken, but Kimbullettican’s calm is legendary. The rows of teeth are mere feet away, and Kimbullettican floats between the creature and the multukwu, having a conversation. They are still afraid—the orange flares of it linger in the Artery like fumes—but they set this aside. I feel the creature too. It is hungry, yes. But there is something more than hunger there. There is confusion, wildness. The scrabbling of the claws on the top of the skull is a reflection of the animal’s mind: something is out of order, a puzzle piece out of place.
Has it gone mad? I find myself asking.
Kimbullettican addresses me simultaneously in the tunnel, not breaking their conversation with the creature.
Be silent.
I obey, but I remain in the Artery, still vigilant for the approach of other predators. All around us, the many other consciousnesses I expect to find have gone silent. It is like the effect of the dirixi in the jungle, all surrounding life understanding that those teeth are the great disturbance of order. Is this animal the underwater version of the dirixi? Does such a thing exist? If it did, I don’t think Kimbullettican would be as confused as they feel. Meanwhile the panic of the multukwu rattles around in the tunnel like a rain of stones. Herbivores on Faloiv, they have never experienced being hunted.
The creature above us on the skull shifts again, its bulk rocking our hideout even more roughly. It clambers sideways, readjusting its position. It is no longer on top of the skull but on the side of it, looking straight into the eye cavern. It is certainly too large to fit, but I think if it wanted to, it could force its jaws into the opening. Kimbullettican said we would need to breathe shallowly with the suit’s mask over our faces—it’s almost impossible. My lungs heave against the tentacles that hold me, and behind me the multukwu’s heart races against my spine.
And then the beast is leaving. The wild white eyes peer into the shadows of our refuge one more time, rolling in their sockets, its hungry confusion roiling within the Artery, and then turn in a flurry of bubbles, the skull rocking in the wake of its departure. A ripple in the forest of aquatic plants betrays its exit, but only when the plants have returned to the regular gentle sway of the current does Kimbullettican turn to us.
One among you has eaten flesh, they say.
What?
The qararac sensed a predator in this group. He knew the multukwu were not game, and yet his prey drive drove him to pursue them. You are within the Artery, and I believe he would have been able to sense you directly if you had consumed meat. Your friends, however. Not connected to the Artery, but if they have consumed flesh, it will have altered their biology, however slightly. What do you have to say about this?
The zunile. The memory of the odor of what they had served in the Zoo’s Atrium emerges from a sealed passage in my mind and fills me with a memory of nausea. Meat, my parents called it. The idea of it twists my stomach, the remembrance of its shape and color, and what it had meant . . .
Kimbullettican’s anger builds in the tunnel, making the multukwu shift and sway in the confined space of the skull. They are communicating something I don’t understand and Kimbullettican turns their attention to the animals. Through the slight blur of the suit’s mask I watch the changing position of Kimbullettican’s forehead spots, how they sink and separate, then cluster before separating again. Alma and Rondo look on, their relief at the departure of the qararac mixing with their confusion about what’s happening now, the looks of gravity on the faces of both Kimbullettican and me. Had they both eaten zunile? Just one of them?
Your people are a risk, Kimbullettican says finally, turning back to me. The multukwu do not wish to carry you any farther. They are afraid.
Are they going to leave us here? I say, panicked. We’ve already swum so far with their assistance. . . . I can’t imagine having to do it alone.
I have convinced them to guide us to the next cavern. They will allow us to surface there and then make their departure.
We didn’t know, I say. I try to communicate this to the multukwu as well as Kimbullettican, but the animals are reluctant to accept my intonations. They are confused, afraid. I get the feeling that we have been transformed into parasites in their eyes; they want to be rid of us, and fast.
What if the qararac comes back? I ask Kimbullettican.
I have explained the situation as best as I am able. The sooner we return to land, the better.
I want them to know I’m sorry, I say. Do they understand that? That we’re sorry? We didn’t know.
The outcome is the same, they say, and push off from the skull wall, returning to the vast deep blue of the underwater tunnel. The animals bearing me and my friends follow, the playfulness of before left behind in the bones. Their round bright eyes seem sunken now, and they avoid looking at us. They seal themselves off from me and carry us forward, more quickly than before. We continue on the route, Kimbullettican swimming steadily at the rear of the group, their anger still smoldering in the Artery.