Chapter I

Ariik stood waist deep in the cold murky water.

“I hate this,” he grumbled, as the rain started to pour.

“What was that?” Zokro grinned. His eyes locked on the water, a rock in his right hand. A snake tattoo slithered around his muscly arm from wrist to shoulder.

“I hate everything about this. I hate the cold water. I hate the streams trying to drown me. I hate the sharp rocks cutting into my feet. Most of all, I hate the fish that avoid my hooks, and the crabs that never walk into my nets”.

“I on the other hand, love everything about this. The sharp stones, they’re my tools. When they cut my feet, the soles grow thicker, stronger.” Zokro laughed and continued: “Callatila smiles at me, because I appreciate what she gives me. You, on the other hand, my fishless friend. You complain about the gifts that are given to you, and therefore: the spirits reject you, and leave your nets empty.”

Zokro laughed smugly, putting a hand on Ariik’s shoulder, looking down on him. Taller. Stronger. And fully aware of it.

Zokro turned, threw the rock hard against the water, and dove. He emerged, holding a large fish. With a swift motion he broke its neck and swung it over his shoulder.

He turned to the shore where a huge woman, a head taller than the tallest men, and twice as wide, stood watching the river. Her body was covered in tattoos, and her right arm bore a snake identical to Zokro’s.

Using his right hand, Zokro signed to her: Got a pike, medium size.

The big woman signed back: OK.

Still nothing in Ariik’s nets, Zokro signed

Not unexpected.

Zokro laughed and Ariik smiled at him: “You’re an idiot.”

Zokro pretended to contemplate the insult, then answered with a mock seriousness: “I’ve been called that before, but I’ve yet to figure out what it means.”

He smiled smugly and continued: “But the fact is: I have one fish. You have none.” He gestured towards the water. “Let’s check your final net, my fishless friend.”

“This one is full!” Ariik shouted as he approached the net. Moving as fast as was possible, the water now up to his neck.

Zokro dove in to take a look and came back up, grinning. “Ah, yes. Full.” He laughed. “Absolutely. This could feed a small child for an entire afternoon.”

He raised his voice theatrically. “No longer are you ‘Ariik, the worst fisherman in the village.’ No. From this day forward you will be known as ‘Ariik, the provider.’ Our grandsons will tell tales by the fire of how you fed the hungry.”

Ariik dove down. Zokro was right. Three small crabs were skittering about in the net, barely enough for one meal. He surfaced again, now treading water as it continued to rise.

“Alright I’ll pick it up, then we’ll go warm up by the fire. We have night watch tonight and I want my legs to be working by then.”

“OK, be careful” Zokro responded as Ariik dove into the water.

The water was dark, but not so shadowed that Ariik couldn’t see the net and the crabs inside. He felt along the mesh with his hands until he reached the stone anchoring one end. He loosened it and swam to the other side.

There, the net was caught beneath a larger rock. Ariik tried to shift it, but it wouldn’t budge. He reached underneath, groping for the edge of the net, trying to pull it free.

Pain ripped through his right hand.

He screamed, but under water, it came out as nothing but bubbles. He gasped. Cold water flooded his lungs. Now both his hand and chest burned.

He kicked upwards and broke the surface, coughing and choking.

Zokro’s face paled as he stared at Ariik’s hand. A grotesque fish had locked its jaws around Ariik’s fingers.

“Get it off, get it off!” Ariik screamed as Zokro grabbed the fish. He pulled but the nightmarish creature only bit down deeper.

Help! Zokro signed towards the shore, but the big woman was already moving.

She waded through the water and reached them, grabbed the ugly fish by its head, crushed it, and picked Ariik up.

Ariik felt the warm blood flowing from his hand down his arm. Everything was spinning. Nearly as strong as the pain was the embarrassment as he was being carried through the village.

By his friend’s wife.

“Skoorpie got his hand,” Narah said, dropping Ariik onto the dirt floor of a small wooden hut.

Evra, a slight young woman with long black hair, knelt beside him. Studying the wound with focused curiosity.

“Nasty creatures they are.” She mused. “In a few years, we won’t be able to fish the river at all.”

Ariik cringed.

“They eat the fish. And then they breed. Eventually, there is no fish left.”

A large, middle aged man entered the hut.

“Narah - You will do night watch with your husband since Ariik is.. incapacitated..” The man commanded.

“Evra…” He looked down at the woman and the clay bowl of green powder next to her. “Do you really have to use all of that?”

“We make the wound powder so we can use it father” Evra murmured without looking up. “If I don’t treat the wound it will rot.”

“We make it so that..” He paused. “It would be tragic if the next real injury couldn’t be treated because we wasted the best medicine on an idiot child sticking his hands into holes without thinking”. He gave them a final disapproving glare, then left.

Evra studied Ariiks hand. Not waiting for a response, she continued:

“As I was saying, the skoorpies, they kill all the fish. Then they all die, because they have nothing left to eat. Then the river is just empty water … This is going to hurt. A lot.”

From her belt, she drew a flint knife.

Narah moved, pinning Ariik’s arm.

“Please don’t,” Ariik pleaded.

“Ariik” Evra said gently, as if speaking to a child. “If I don’t take these two fingers off, the rot will spread. First your arm, then if I don’t take the arm, your heart. And no creature lives without a heart.”

She paused, then giggled. “Not even a boy.” Her face stilled. “No.. You will die a slow and painful death.”

Ariik closed his eyes.

And prayed for the day to end.

Notes