Dis)enchanting by Tharidi Walimunige

(Dis)enchanting

By Tharidi Walimunige| Graphics by Rosann Anthony The sun isn’t right. Too pallid, too cold, too can the sun get sick? Its light cuts through the water without any of the usual finesse; serrated when it should be rich, glistening beeswax seeping from the sky. Why is it flashing?

Her senses flinch and press close to her aching mind as the haze lifts. There is no sun, only a deathly beacon from above and winking stars to the side. She scrapes her shivering limbs against the sand, frowning at its strange colour as she lifts herself up. Wading closer to the flashing orbs feels like a mistake – a naïve prey who hasn’t yet learned the tricks predators play with light – but she blames it on the haziness that persists in her mind. Creeping closer …

THUNK!

Headfirst, she collides with an invisible barrier. It is a sturdy encasing. No amount of pounding, scratching, or pressing tears it away. Understanding the futility in I’ve never seen anything like you, she leaves it be and peers past it. The stars are bursting forth from black shapes, and they are held by …

She scuttles away from the barrier and whips this way and that, searching for a hideaway. She finds it between a boulder and a leafy curtain. Curled up in obscurity, the threat is drowned out by no, please, where did they take me?

Trying to coil even tighter around herself, her mind roars with an angry swarm of hornets. She is remembering hands, leashes, hurt, tumbling, cages, cloying croons, threat, threat, THREAT!

Humans.

Spring is home. Wise trees gather around sparkling water, frothy waves cascade down limestone ledges, and winking sand beckons the forest’s creatures. She is revered here; powerful, but not as a predator. The animals sharing her home greet her with tickling twitches of muzzles, indulgent glides of fur, puffing rustles of feathers, and timid taps of scales. They bring offerings to her spring. Dead or dying are placed at the water’s edge, a wish for a gentle passing.

Today it is a wolf cub, hours alive and hours dead, carried by the scruff in pack leader’s maw. It is not the first time this pack has visited her, but where there should be ease and familiarity, instead the elder canine is skittish, ears staunchly pricked up and muscles tensed. He hesitates, then places his cargo before her and whips his head to the side. He glares into the distance, softly growling. She looks too, but seeing nothing amiss, returns her attention to the gift. Drawing the pup into her embrace, she plunges underwater and descends to the spring’s earthy floor. Scooping out a bed in the sand, the corpse is laid to rest. Her fingers glide through its tawny fur, first in practicality to rub blood out of fur, and then in you deserved more, be at peace now. She leaves it in the company of the sparkling mounds scattered about. Soon the cub’s body will follow their lead, as crystallisation devours the death and decay.

Wading to the water’s surface, she breaks for air. Though the wolf pack is gone, they left a festering curiosity within her. She dives back down, gliding through an underwater hole along the far edge of the spring. Much time is spent weaving through a maze of dim tunnels, before she reaches the connecting river located in the direction of the alpha wolf’s wariness. Slowly breaching the surface with the tip of her head, she stills.

Too quiet. Something is here, and the forest doesn’t like it. The air is brittle. She can neither see nor hear any of the larger creatures. The intruder must be dangerous then, to have driven off the great predators. Swimming closer to the river’s edge, she notices an unusual shrub. From her throat, a questioning warble vibrates in you do not smell

She pulls away too late.

The shrub shoots a net at her, trapping her flailing limbs and dragging her out of the water. She keens and scrabbles in vain. And then, all at once, cacophony returns to the forest. Thundering steps and piercing shouts overwhelm her.

The humans win.

That light placed above her enclosure, too I wish you would leave, sickly thing, is called a lamp. She hates it.

Birthing-One had screeched when Sire-One echoed a human filth-word. He had puffed up, warning her to leave human inventions alone. They were destined to destroy with what they create; this was his favourite saying when she was one of three. And yet, Birthing-One still taught her the language of humans. Taught her that knowing was more powerful than using.

She can hear them beyond the glass. Muddled most times, but if she focuses with her utmost effort, the glass dissolves to Birthing-One was right, leave them to their filth.

She doesn’t eavesdrop anymore.

Last time –

‘Mayor Helsby, thank you for visiting us today.’

‘Well, I just had to see with my own eyes what was causing such a fuss. Our city’s on the map because of this beauty!’

‘And for good reason. No other aquarium, reserve or park has anything like our Miriam. Youngest of her kind in captivity.’

‘Sounds like you’ve given that spiel before!’

‘Heh, what can I say, we weren’t sure if we could pull this off, but now that we have, well … you can’t fault us for a bit of boasting.’

‘No, of course not! You’ve done wonders here. I only hope you have enough in you for another go. What do you say, think Miriam needs a friend?’

‘Believe me, we’re trying. Everyone from Sweden to New Zealand is wanting one of their own. But none of them last long in captivity and no one knows why. We think that people may have only been catching sick ones. Miriam’s first in the world to survive past twelve days.’

– wasn’t worth the effort.

Beady eyes ask all the wrong questions. Itching nails tap CLINK! CLINK! The little ones run off, and then there is a handler, taking his fill of her before another swarm descends.

Everything is sick here. Heavy water, dazed plants. She thinks the wrongness around her now swims in her blood. She doesn’t remember the last time she ate. She doesn’t remember the last time she cared.

Birthing-One and Sire-One catch her small form as she tumbles off the waterfall. She clicks and chirps merrily, and they toss her up onto the ledge again. She slides down the current and falls into their waiting embrace. Their favourite game. They cradle her close and begin to nuzzle and groom her. She opens her mouth –

SPLASH!

The dream – memory – becomes powdery like butterfly wings before dissipating. She clicks in a sharp burst, irritated, and sets her sight at the handler who just dived into her enclosure. Unfurling from her lounged position nestled in moss, she floats up to meet him.

‘Hey there, Miriam. You haven’t been eating and it’s got us worried. So, I’m just gonna give you something to make you sleep and then we’ll get you checked out, okay? Good girl.’

He has a pointy tool in hand. There are only so many ways a human can think to use something like that. She decides apathy will have to wait, for try to hurt me and I will gut you is needed now. A glance at the glass barrier shows no audience. Shame. For once, she wanted to give the humans a show.

The handler reaches for her slowly, as if speed was the problem between her and them. As if she would welcome their touch, as long as it was gentle. She lets one hand float near her head and when he moves the other to use the pointy weapon, she strikes.

CRUNCH!

Her teeth shatter the bones in the arm closest to her. He screams, losing hold of his weapon. All hope of this man rallying against her sinks with it. She hears clamouring from above the enclosure, picking up fragmented phrases from the other handlers.

‘Fuck! What happened—’

‘Get him out!’

The handler is hitting her, flailing in his attempt to get away. But he is weak, weaker even than her ill state. Weak, wrong, bad, and foolish. He will regret ever coming near her. They all will.

She rips a chunk of his throat out and cracks his ribcage in her jaws. She makes vines from the flesh on his legs as she bashes his limp body against the glass of her cage. There is so much shouting, the walls are wailing, lights are flashing, and all she sees is red. It is pure chaos.

‘… too volatile … put her back …’

They shoot nets again. They catch her again.

The humans don’t win.

She swims through the twisting tunnel. No light shines here, but she navigates by heart, for finally, I missed you. It is a path traversed countless times, countless flutters of fins in precise motions so as not to graze rocky walls. But this time is different – I’m here, I feel you – so she lets her filmy appendages caress the limestone as she darts by.

The sun! The real one – salmon egg yellow; spilt yolk puddling bigger as she draws closer. And then she is welcomed by Oh! You haven’t changed a bit. Crystallised carcasses slumbering on the waterbed, bird’s-nest moss cushioning playful pups, singing liquid pooling from great heights, metallic scales twinkling like stars, sunset petals shyly unfurling, hoots and yowls and chirps rejoicing her return. Home, as it should be.

Unlike her spring, she is no untouched beauty. Glass-sickness has followed her back. Weak, grey, unmade. She wants I’m home, back to normal now, but the humans poisoned her, they must have, for she aches. The waters she yearned for burn so cold, a stabbing of it’s too much, not enough.

She sinks. Her limbs shudder in is this death? Her eyes glaze in I thought I understood dying. A grainy embrace catches her. The remains resting around her answer none of her silent, ebbing thoughts. Her final breath is will I wake again?

Before her eyelids clam shut and sever the pearls of her vision, she sees that shining circle …

The sun …

Or was it a lamp?