The Chosen of Aquian

Prologue

The crab raised its antennae cautiously as it emerged from a hole in the sand, one exit from a network of tunnels through which it scampered when danger threatened. It knew each turn intimately, and when vibrations came, sensing movement, it slid quietly away from any threat. Occasionally, a giant above came digging, flinging sand away so quickly that the crab’s brethren would be grabbed and broken, protective shells no match for the giant’s powerful hands. Satisfied, the giant would walk away, powerful body half hidden in duskiness. The crab wished it did not have to hunt then.
There was no avoiding that. Nothing moved during daylight hours. Everything hunted in the dusk, that short period between day’s fiery furnace and night’s frigidity, when life became bearable, when existence in any real sense was possible.
The crab swiveled its antennae to check each horizon. Nothing moved. To its left, the old, rotting hulk of a boat remained, but it seemed harmless enough. Danger lay in the rocks because the giant could hide there, had hidden there before. The crab looked straight ahead where water moved hardly at all. It did not appreciate the oddity of that lack of movement, only aware that food hid near the edge.
And that was the problem. The previous day’s storm left a huge expanse of sand so that the crab’s network of tunnels now lay far from the water’s edge, that distance it must traverse to feed. The storm had cleared the beach, leaving it bone-white and without a single thing to scavenge. Storms came more frequently now, and food was scarce. With a jerky movement, the crab climbed out of its hole and stood frozen, every sense alert. Nothing moved, and after a long hesitation, it scampered, in its sideways fashion, toward water. Every few steps, it stopped, antennae swiveling, searching out any movement or sound. Nothing moved; nothing sounded. It scampered again.
This it did repeatedly until the water, dark, with a silvery glint caused by the sun’s lingering light, shimmered, only a short distance away. Now, the antennae seemed different. The crab changed from frightened, potential prey to stalking predator. It knew that, near water’s edge, mollusks attached to rock, the gentle, almost invisible motion of all but non-existent tides not only a soothing massage but also the engine that brought food to them. Gone were the jerky movements of just a while ago. Now, the crab moved slowly, smoothly, aware that mollusks, if they sensed danger, would slide into holes, making them unreachable. Water eddied around its legs as it eased forward. It would feed well tonight.
The crab had reached a small shelf where beach descended into deeper water, and where mollusks hid, when the night’s silence shattered. The crab froze, its antennae straight up, searching for the noise. To the right and behind it, a flashing figure moved rapidly. The crab tried to turn, to scamper to its hole, but it was too late. Concentrating on the charging figure with its arm thrown back and a long spear like an accusatory finger against a dusky sky, the crab never saw the silvery flash of an eel as its jaws crushed the crab’s protective shell. Almost simultaneously, the spear flew, a perfect arrow of death. It penetrated the eel’s head, which flexed and then flopped. The figure, feet splashing water everywhere, unmindful of still snapping jaws, scooped up the eel and flung it carelessly on to a bone-white, darkening beach. There, it flopped around. Finally, the figure pulled a sharpened stone knife from a sheath and, in one brutal stroke, sliced the eel’s head. Then, seeing a crab in the eel’s mouth, the figure laughed soundlessly, broken teeth glinting in dying light.
A bonus, it thought.
Taking the eel’s head, crab inside, the figure held it skyward. There were almost no stars, but near the northern horizon, a dull light glowed.
“I am Virgisula. Nkosi is my father. Rathkina gave me life. My mother. I am all that’s left. I am the witness. Fly well, my father.”
It was a girl’s voice. Bending, she picked up the eel’s body, which had already begun to lose its silvery sheen, and strode toward the rocks. To the west, the sun’s last glint disappeared.