Chapter Three

Lofin

The Kwi Coast Pod dwelled in a restricted little sea zone north of the San Francisco Bay. It was a quiet, watery world filled with towering gray crags and forests of tall kelp plants. Scores of tiny fish and other dwellers of the continental shelf spent their entire lives in that weedy forest…just as the local pod of dolphins spent its entire existence within the rigid boundaries of the coast.

From a large cove that was nearly a mile long, out to the deeper coastal waters—where depths ranged anywhere from fifty to two hundred feet—life flourished. The perpetual feeding chain of the sea went on in earnest there, with the Kwi Coast WhistlingFin at its top.

The coastal floor of muddy gravel and broken shells was ruled by the Crawlers and the Clingers—the clams and crabs and lobsters. Sometimes those bottom dwellers climbed their way surface-ward, clinging to the fernlike kelp as they scuttled up its stalks in search of their microscopic prey. The Crawlers and Clingers, in turn, became delicacies for the prowling GillFin, and the fish, upon venturing too close to the outskirts of the seaweed forest, fell victim to hungry Whistlers.

The hidden cove of marine life was about a half-mile wide. Once outside it, the Pod was permitted to roam five miles north or south along the coast. Whenever Pod members ventured west, they swam out roughly another five miles as far as the two-hundred-foot depths, the Boundaries, which they marked by echo-ranging the deep, using the sonar inside their high foreheads and lower beaks to home in on the jutting sea caverns below. There, the mysterious Slithering Ones dwelled. The realm of the dark cave eels marked the farthest point to which a Pod member could roam. For, beyond those Boundaries were the Outer Zones, where even the Commodore needed approval to patrol. Violent border skirmishes took place in the outer zones to protect the Pod from Snag-Tooth that had ventured too close.

Beyond the Outer Zone was the Open Sea—and no one was permitted there.

****

It was afternoon, and the sun hung high in the sky, a gleaming yellow ball that sent streams of gold speeding down to the sea below. A small, creamy gray dolphin played merrily in the churning waves of a great freighter. Piper had pushed away the sting of her morning drills and was now absorbed in leaping and twirling in the bow-spurt of a huge Floater.

Such spry behavior was common of most Whistlers, for, by nature, dolphins were curious and playful. But long ago, Commodore RamStrong had scorned such antics, deeming them wasteful, “A distraction from more urgent matters.” Piper hadn’t listened, as usual, but she did make a definite point of not indulging in her merry games whenever the surly old Whistler was about. Lately she had been leery of rankling RamStrong and the other Elders. She had argued often with her brother about her habit of scoffing at Clan Traditions, and it was obvious that QuickFin did not approve. Even though her games with the Floaters did not violate the Clan Code, they annoyed the Commodore. QuickFin’s constant lectures had finally convinced Piper to play in such ways only when RamStrong and the Elders were not around. She would be careful, she always promised.

It was difficult for most to stay mad at Piper. She was a gentle creature, and her beauty was reflected in her stunning features. It was no secret that the young beauty was the most sought after she-Whistler in the Clan. Even the rugged Fury Squad veterans often gathered together and spoke longingly of her, though at six seasons she was considered a mere youngling. And it was also said that, on occasion, when the sleek young female glided by, one might detect a glimmer of lust even in old RamStrong’s eye—causing wonder about what sort of talk went on within the circle of male Elders.

Piper never took notice of any of it, though—if she even realized it at all—and so she spurned the company of male suitors in favor of her private scamps in the waves.

“What would you do if you were threatened by a hungry Snag-Tooth?” complained a belligerent Buffer one day.

“Probably I’d swim away from him with my great speed. After all, I am the swiftest member of the squad, you know,” she had replied coyly, knowing well that it annoyed Buffer to hear that.

“But not the bravest,” snapped Buffer, puffing the thick of his heavy chest out, as though it were proof of his prowess.

“It’s not always brave to fight when there are wiser ways out,” she had answered.

“We shall see,” Buffer had grumbled as he paddled off, disgruntled and adding a few extra-strong thrashes of his tail for effect. But Piper hadn’t noticed his angry burst of speed. She had already spun off for another jaunt in the waves. Still, she liked Buffer. She never failed to notice what a handsome Whistler he was, and she often wondered if he was really as gruff as he acted.

One thing was certain though: Buffer’s sentiments were shared by the rest of the Commodore’s young charges. Every one of them was frustrated by repeated attempts for Piper’s attention. But none cared to push too far, lest it meant risking a row with QuickFin. Even Buffer was unsure of his chances in an all-out brawl with the Commodore’s young protégé.

Piper and QuickFin were all that was left of a family that had disappeared mysteriously over five seasons past. RamStrong had blamed it on the Snag-Tooth, insisting such tragedies would never happen if Whistlers avoided hunting at night and stopped wandering too close to the Boundaries where the nightly Snag-Tooth prowled. Stricter laws would have been enforced if RamStrong had had his way.

The Pod had accepted the Commodore’s explanation of the family’s disappearance, and everyone had mourned the loss. But Piper had never been completely convinced by it and wondered if there were more to it than had been explained. She promised herself a day would come when she would learn more.

****

It was a typical day of frolic for Piper, dashing in and out of the foaming bow-spurt of passing freighters and trawlers and hitching “rides” as far as the Boundaries. Checking the depths with her scanners to be sure she had not gone too far, she would then leap out again before the Floater trudged away into the forbidden outer zone. The fine spray of waves over her silky skin pleased her and made her recall how accidentally brushing against Buffer had sometimes excited her, though she had never given hint of it or understood why.

All was normal and pleasant until—while springing out of a large black freighter’s surge—she suddenly echoed onto the presence of another being. Barely ten yards away a tiny dorsal fin broke the rolling surf. Then a stout black-and-white form wriggled up from the rippling blue. It was no more than five feet in length. Piper checked herself with several strong beats of her tail. She lifted herself up onto her flukes and suspended her body upright, giving the impression she was “walking on the waves” until free of the trawler’s sucking force, then dropped back into the natural prone posture of a sea creature.

Piper recognized the intruder instantly. The Pod called them Harbor Waifs, but most sea creatures knew porpoises as Rovers. They were a carefree lot, these small cetacean cousins to the WhistlingFin. Despite their diminutive size and stubby look, they might have been mistaken for undersized dolphins. RamStrong loathed them. He and the Clan Elders, and even Thane SilverFlukes, had forbidden anyone at Kwi Coast to bother with the merry Rovers. Long ago, porpoises had been branded “reckless scavengers who fed on scraps thrown from the Floaters of the Humunz,” who were Land Dwellers. It was said that the Harbor Waifs’ speech was corrupt and that the mischievous wanderers were filled with foolish tales of their frequent romps out into the Open Sea…and that given the chance, they would lead the young of the Pod astray with their cunning lies. To be seen with a Harbor Waif tempted a hearing before the High Clan!

Piper had never been this close to a Waif. The creature was certainly not very impressive to behold. It was smaller than she was, its body chunky and round, its blunt-shaped mouth filled with spaded teeth unlike the conical teeth of the WhistlingFin, and the Waif’s dorsal fin and its flukes looked ridiculously tiny for its plump body. It was that chubbiness that made Piper think of her Pod’s disdain for the Harbor Waifs’ gross feeding habits. Still, she could not help noticing the definite resemblance there was to a Whistler: the muscular tail and the small airway atop the creature’s head. Spurters, as those of the sea knew the WhistlingFin and all their Kin…and though this homely creature sent a bristle of disquiet through Piper, she could not deny that it was a Spurter and, therefore, one like herself.

She felt she had already seen enough of their carefree Kin and so made to leave. Perhaps, thought Piper, the Commodore was right this time. A shrill call stopped her.

“Foolish…very foolish to play so close to the Land Dwellers!”

The Waif’s voice had a screechy lilt to it, and it made Piper uneasy. And this one, a female, had spoken in a queer manner, not the sort of gibber the young dolphin had expected. Piper ruffled nervously, eying the chunky creature curiously. The porpoise paddled cautiously toward her, knowing the slightest hint of mischief might prove costly, for the Whistlers of Kwi Coast were renowned fighters.

“’Tis not wise to frolic with the Humunz, lovely Whistler, for they are a most sneaky lot, oh, yes.” The porpoise drew closer.

“You talk of foolishness…Waif?” said Piper. “Who is it that grows fat and slow off their scraps!”

Piper knew it would have pleased the Commodore to hear her say that. She was learning already to dislike this little scavenger. But the Waif kept her poise, and her cocky manner baffled the young Whistler. A tiny voice whimpered inside Piper. What if she were caught here doing this?

“We Rovers keep our distance when we take their scraps, good Whistler. We never let the Humunz near enough to pull their tricks on us,” the Waif replied sweetly. “Not like you WhistlingFin do.”

Piper’s dorsal fin tightened.

“ ‘Tricks’? You speak in riddles, Waif. The Humunz have never acted sneaky with us,” said Piper, perplexed by the creature’s words. “Why, they have even led us to some very fine hunting. And…and they hunt the Snag-Tooth sometimes,” rambled Piper, not sure why she felt she had to add that.

“The HunterKin hunt the Snag-Tooth. Does that make them your friends too?” quipped the porpoise.

Piper shuddered at the mention of their larger cousins, the fierce killer whales, the orcas. She could not believe how loosely this Waif spoke of them. Truly, these mischievous creatures were as reckless as the Commodore had said. She grew more nervous. They were in full view and in clear sound range of any who might happen by. Their voices were high, especially the Waif’s. The sensitive echo-locale of other Pod members might easily pick up this forbidden discourse if any were nearby and on the alert.

“Where do you think those missing from your Clan have gone?” the Waif said suddenly, as though making a final stab for Piper’s attention. “Surely you don’t believe the Snag-Tooth responsible for everything.”

Piper was shocked, puzzled how this pudgy creature knew so much about her Pod and what she herself was thinking. A chilly thought crept up in the back of her mind. She suppressed it.

“Who are you, Waif?” demanded Piper. She was more used to the straightforward talk of her own kind. This creature’s constant riddles annoyed her.

“I am called LoFin,” the porpoise replied congenially, sensing the young dolphin’s growing impatience. “I am one of nine…my Clan…my family,” she continued, trying to soften in her tone. “We stay sometimes in the harbors of the Land Dwellers, that is, when we are not romping in the Open Sea. But we never come as close to those sly Humunz as you do. Oh, we take their food, yes, but at a good safe distance. And when we know they are on the hunt, we leave! We have no wish to be seized by them. Ah…and when we leave, and where we go…our journeys are most fascinating!”

Piper grew even more suspicious. Her curiosity had been piqued, but her inbred mistrust of these “lesser kin” to the WhistlingFin held her back. What of the Commodore’s many cautions?

It seemed that the porpoise actually heard her thoughts, for she gave a coy flutter of her fins. Piper paused a moment. She glanced up at the cloudless sky that was filled with swarms of elegant seagulls scouring the surf for potential prey, then turned back to face LoFin.

“I dare not speak with you…LoFin. If I am caught with the likes of you, my problems with the Clan will be even worse.”

LoFin nodded her beak, letting the insult pass. She was accustomed to it.

“It is forbidden for us to speak with Waifs, you know,” said Piper when the porpoise did not reply. Her ashy eyes betrayed a growing fear of what she was doing. This was not a mere jaunt in the waves. For that the Commodore might only scold her. But this…this would earn her the wrath of the entire High Clan!

“Ah yes, my pretty white-fin,” cooed LoFin softly, beating the water with her flukes. “ ‘You must avoid those wretched scavengers, for their foul words will corrupt you, indeed,’ ” she snickered in an almost perfect mimic of the Commodore’s gruff manner. “Come Piper!” the Waif’s mud-brown eyes flashed with an air of mischief. “We’ve heard of one so bold that she challenges the ways of her Clan. We know of you, brave Piper. Follow me to the BreakWaters. Your Pod never goes there. No one will see—and the waves are too noisy for any others to hear. Come, and I will tell you such a tale!”

Piper quivered in nervous excitement. She knew this was a grave violation of the Code…and that this LoFin might be nothing more than a diabolical liar. But the Waif had touched something in her, perhaps unknowingly. And the sting of the morning drills still lingered. Why shouldn’t she go?

She knew if RamStrong ever found out, she might even be banished: The Hundred Dawns. Exile. The Black Waters! Piper had been reared on the horrors of Exile. They all had. Her eyes clouded with confusion and fear.

LoFin sensed it and was taken aback. She knew something of the Kwi Coast Pod’s beliefs, and their superstitions too. It made little sense to her, but she was amazed at the strength of its power over them.

Finally Piper spoke. “All I know of the world beyond Kwi Coast is what the High Clan tells us. You, LoFin, have been places I have known only through old tales. There…there are many things I would ask you.”

“Then let us go,” said the porpoise urgently, for she began to realize just how long they had been out in the open together. “We tarry here too long, my lovely Whistler. I do not wish to bring down the wrath of your warlike Clan upon my own little family.”

“Be warned, though, ‘friend’ LoFin,” barked Piper in a tone of uncharacteristic menace, “we of Kwi Coast know how to defend ourselves should you lead me to more than talk.” And at that moment, Piper was grateful for what little Fury Squad training she had picked up, and for some reason, she felt good in knowing it might have pleased old RamStrong.

“Of that, I am sure, good Whistler,” uttered the porpoise gravely.

And with that they swam off for the dangerous BreakWaters.