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The water surrounding Zenith was a deep emerald green. Gazing toward the faraway surface, the water took on the hue of a ripe lime. At least his death would have a pleasing color scheme. But a dull gray veil descended over his vision as the last molecules of oxygen deserted his aching lungs. He blinked his eyes and shook his head, struggling to regain the green backdrop for his demise.
Through the emerald depths, a shadow approached. He fancied it was a mermaid, and why shouldn’t it be? Anything seemed possible in GrahBhag. As the gray veil descended once more, it occurred to him that in this world the mythical creature was more likely to be his doom than his salvation. He imagined it sinking needle-shaped teeth into his throat.
Instead, a pair of leathery lips latched onto his mouth and fed him a fresh lungful of air. The veil over his vision lifted to reveal the three bloodshot eyes of the black stony-skinned fish mere millimeters away from his own. Their lip-lock lasted a moment more, then his savior swam away, gesturing with one craggy fin for him to follow.
The fish seemed to sense that swimming to the surface was an impossibility for Zenith. Instead, it led him down into a wide trench. Ahead of them, in the middle of an outcropping of red seaweed, was another, larger sea vent with a steady stream of bubbles shooting straight up from the sea floor. Zenith kicked harder, diving down past his guide toward what he hoped was another portal back home.
The ice-cold water from the vent stung his face. He instinctively shut his eyes and became tangled in the seaweed, unable to free himself. When he looked again, he discovered it was a hidden fishing net that held him. The mesh closed tightly around his body as it pulled him toward the surface. A specific panic seized Zenith, one he’d felt only once before, when he’d plunged through the ice into the freezing waters of Kalikov Pond. Except this time, death waited above, rather than below. Zenith thrashed wildly in the net, trying to break free before he was boiled alive by the scorching temperature of the shallower water. His furious activity was short-lived, as the grey veil descended yet again and his limbs went limp.
Once more, he was saved by a fresh infusion of oxygen from the stony-skinned fish. Maybe drowning was too good for Zenith. Perhaps the fish preferred to see him boiled as revenge against his species for all the fish that ended up poached on a stove.
But he wasn’t boiling, was he? The net had already dragged him higher than he’d been able to ascend on his own, and the temperature of the water now was no more than lukewarm. Apparently the ice-cold stream from the sea vent below was strong and steady enough to create a continuous column of cooler water.
His aquatic friend returned with another dose of oxygen. The fish seemed pleased that Zenith had stopped struggling. It nodded, swam through the mesh into the net with him, and gestured upward. They were less than thirty feet from the surface, and the wooden hull of the boat that was reeling them in loomed large above. Freed from worrying about the water, Zenith instead fretted about what his captors planned to do with him. |
