The web of fishnets wheel in the air and splash water into the rays of the morning sun, scattering rainbows over the bank. The fisherwomen of this village talk as they work and the children run and dive into the gentle currents of the river as they do. Their homes lie nestled in a valley bracketed by steep cliffs, accessed by switchback paths. Beyond, the white crests of mountains border the clear blue horizon. A single road leads out of the valley at one end, following the course of the river, while the other ends in a fjord that is guided by the cliffs until it reaches the sea. It is at the confluence of the river and the fjord that the fisherwomen work their nets.
Kida is half distracted listening to the news from the dance last night and so at first she doesn’t see what her net has brought in.
‘What’s that?’ asks Frey.
Kida looks. A rock unlike any she has seen before has caught in the webbing of her net. About the size of her fist, its surface is a smooth sand-brown. But on one side, the rock has cracked to reveal its inside. A soft, green glow emanates from its crystalline innards.
Kida picks it up. It feels warm. Some of the other women have gathered around and are muttering their speculations. This huddle attracts the attention of the children who barge their way through the knot of adults to see what the fuss is about.
‘Let me see!’ says Loty, one of the younger children cries. Kida hands over the strange rock. Then, looking down at the gentle waters running around her ankles, she sees the rock is not alone. Fine grains of the greenish crystal float along the waters and she spies more of the sand-brown rocks nestled amongst the usual blue and grey pebbles.
Loty has run off and is being chased by all the other children, who want to hold it for themselves. Kida smiles and shakes her head. Then she winces. Something brushed against her hand. And it feels like it has been burned.
When she looks, she sees the hand that held the rock is red and swollen, as if held under boiling water. Then, something moves under her skin. Kida is too shocked to scream.
She casts around for help. She sees the other women picking up their own rocks. The children playing in the water with the crystal filaments. Her pulse quickens. She can’t catch her breath.
The thing moving in her hand bursts clear of the skin, spraying Kida’s face with a fine mist of her own blood. A small, black tentacle has emerged between her thumb and forefinger. When she reflexively clenches, the tentacle clenches with the rest of her fingers.
Kida’s screams echo across the valley, up the switchback paths, and into the ears of the hooded figure watching the village from the cliffs.
Paddy Dobson
11th July 2021