Orca by Himring

Chapter 1

He had never had any attention to spare for making comparisons, but he might have had said that it had been like trying to learn to fly a long distance without wings—like attempting to squeeze drops of water from granite with his bare hands. None of it had come easy. The damage inflicted was too great and, so was the darkness of His will.

But now, when against all likelihood, it had seemed he had made it, almost—the immense blue was finally in sight, even though it was still wrapped in haze—he discovered he had, almost literally, run into a final wall. The shock of impact was such that for a moment he believed he had indeed run slap into a barrier made of invisible masonry. One moment he had been loping along, his addled brain not daring to dream of freedom quite yet, although he had been plotting and scheming, concealing his intentions even from himself, with infinite patience, virtually forever; the next he was painfully brought up short. But however physical it felt, the barrier, of course, was inside him and consisted of fear: another layer of instinctive panic and revulsion instilled by Him, in case any of his servants ever remembered they were unwilling, in the innermost, deepest core of their being, and attempted escape westwards.

He had surmounted other such fears, many, as he had faced being burned up bodily by the noonday sun, but he had not expected this final fear, a visceral fear of the Sea, the Sea that had been his hoped-for, promised Escape, if only he could reach it, and now suddenly had become the thing he feared the most. He howled and dug his claws into the soil, so agonizing was that sudden, complete shift of emotion.

And still he fought—cowering, trembling, but he fought. He hurled himself against the leash of His will, straining to move on towards the blue that had been beckoning him, only brief moments ago, and now seemed filled with chill menace. The leash tightened, tightened…

He might have never made it. But then a yell went up behind him, and engrossed in his inner battle, as he was, he still heard it and recognized the threat of being caught, attacked, killed. It propelled him forward and then he was dashing towards the Sea, with enemies on his tail.

Which enemies? It hardly mattered. He would not let himself be caught, not now.

He was fast and outdistanced them at first, but the path of his flight left him in plain sight and he heard them catching up again behind. He reached the beach and raced across, sand and pebbles flying from under his feet. An arrow sped past him. He never stopped to think or make any other decision. With all of his remaining strength, he ran straight into the breakers. A huge wave arose before him, sweeping him off his feet and out of sight of his enemies and the Enemy.

It was cold. He could not hear or see and his lungs burned. There was pressure on him from all sides, so much pressure that he was surprised that it had not yet crushed him out of existence. The question flashed through his mind whether, after all, He had been right and the Other was the true Enemy.

But it did not last, for soon he was being spun and tumbled, water washing around and through him from all directions. Although the forces in control of him were utterly bewildering and he could not quite grasp what was being done to him, there were moments he felt old hurt that had been with him so long he had no longer been aware of it dissolving and flowing away with the gushing, rushing water. He must be changing, changing back? No, not back...

This went on for a very long time. At last, he found himself cradled in the blue billow of Lord Ulmo’s cloak, Lord Ulmo’s face looming above him.

‘Osse,’ boomed Ulmo. ‘Here is a fellow escapee. He is new to the ways of the Sea. I hand him over to your care and guidance.’

He heard Osse laugh with delight. The sound was like the hiss and gurgle of the waves.

‘Come with me, then, Child.’

He heard and swam forth, still black and deadly in his way, but strong and beautiful and whole now, an orca, to join the others.

Behind him, the great Horns of Ulmo still sang freedom, even at a price.