The Sea and the Mountains

That year, the snow covered the land in a deathly beautiful, pure blanket. For the first month of winter, it snowed endlessly, and for the last three, it lay deeper than I’d ever seen before, untouched, as if the world was holding its breath for something grand.

Bracing my shoulder against the door, I heaved it open and tumbled out—an unfamiliar gust swept away the melancholy that Winter had left behind. That breeze carried the slightest scent of the sea, a pleasant aroma that tickled at nausea. 

For a brief moment, the scenery looked like the sky had spilled into the world below.

A flood had quietly risen, as far as I could see, all the way past the entrance of the valley, now still and mirroring the heavens. The mountains that rose at the very edge of my vision were an emerald green and misty blue. Birds conversed in the brisk morning air. “What a peculiar Spring!”

I sat on the newly formed grassy shore and closed my eyes. The Autumn before, I had gone to sleep when I’d noticed that the days where the blue sky peeked through the gray, heavy clouds were dwindling. The valley had been splashed with decaying reds and yellow brown. The few times I’d awoken to peer out of my bedroom and rekindle the fire, the snow had piled high over the lower windows. A glittering expanse of white. Most trees had been buried, save for the Evergreens which speared through from beneath. Now, I peered down at shimmering pastures far below the water’s surface. Where my livestock had grazed, huge schools of dark, silvery fish swam, occasionally glinting in the depths. A monstrous black eel twisted between the white pickets of a fence. With considerable effort, I raised myself from the ground to see what work the strange tide had forced upon me.

Chickens were scattered about the garden, clucking, pecking at the flowerbeds. One dipped its beak into the water. Another sat upon a brown egg, lying in a twisted skein of baby-blue forget-me-nots. 

I tossed the last hen into a temporary coop, where it fluttered down to resume pecking away at the garden.

“Quite strange is it not?” A small, amicable voice broke the silence I’d maintained all morning. 

“Hm?” I stomped on a post, driving it into the ground. Entertaining the banal introduction.

A small lizard scurried by on the stones lining my tulips. “All this water.”

“We did have a lot more snow this year. Piles and piles.”  I leaned on the fence, and looked up. The endless blue sky laughed at us. The lizard probably didn’t notice. 

“Ah… is that so?” It was a bright green, punctuated by reds down its back, an arrogant, faint blue ring encircled its eyes. It tilted its head and flicked its tongue over one. Somehow, it seemed a more vibrant emerald than the plants in the garden, everything else seemed to fade away.

I clicked my tongue in irritation. 

“You’re not from around here eh?”

“No indeed. I drifted in from the West this morning.” It tilted its head towards the back of the valley. It must have come from beyond the mountain range. The little reptile ventured into the tulips and perched itself beneath a blooming Rembrandt, eyeing a ladybug. “I like to visit these mountains once in a while. It is unbearably hot where I am from this time of year.” 

“Too much even for you?”

“After all, too much of anything is no good.”

“I see. Sorry about that.” I cut it off, and looked out at the pristine waters. They were filled with a vista that should’ve been blanketed with a spring haze, rather than this tropical ambience. I didn’t particularly like the company it had brought. 

“...Well, I’ll be on my way. Wouldn’t want to take up too much of your time if you have work to do.” It bowed its head, and crawled into the grass outside my fence. “One hopes that winter hasn’t killed all the grasshoppers…” 

At the very least it could read the mood. 

The work in the garden completed, I moved to the next issue. Within the newly formed bay, my home nestled far back into the grassy shore, where the trees and path hooked about it in a horseshoe. I didn’t have to go very far in either direction to turn an unseen corner on that path—lo and behold, following to the left was a slanted pasture, where I found my sheep. 

Baaa! They bleated upon seeing me, and trotted over. Their coats were damp. They must have floated with the rising waters. Two, four, six, eight…nine. I was missing three, which I could manage. Later perhaps. I began to whistle a tune, and they ambled into a loose line. As the closest began to nibble at the young grass, I heard a splash, and twisted my head in its direction.

“Hahaha!” Laughter echoed in the bay. A beautiful maiden danced atop the surface, draped in glittering veils, faintly blue and green, lighter than air, like sunlight through crystal water. Was it really just one girl? I could hardly tell, but from them rose a cacophony of noise and chittering laughter. It made me dizzy. A few sheep began to break line and move towards the water. 

“No!” I snapped, stamping my crook into the ground. Heads bowed, my flock shuffled slowly back into position. These were mine. My lips twisted as I scowled, giving up on searching for the remainder of my flock. I cursed them and their shallow frolicking, though they hardly knew I existed. Their reality was an entirely different one compared to mine. What an easy life. I heard the echoes of their laughter as I moved away, around the corner. My anger faded with their gleeful cries. They had come with the rising waters. I had forgotten. Until they subsided, I would tie the sheep down.

Given the lay of the land, logic dictated that the only other pasture this high on the mountain would have gathered my cows.

Rather than my cows I found a bloated beast, basking in the sun. Damp seaweed draped its form and old barnacles covered its body in rough patches, obscuring its silhouette. As I approached, one of its myriad eyes rolled back in its socket to stare at me. I squarely met its gaze at eye level. Its slit of a mouth split open at the edges.

“Well, hello there…” Its rumbling voice reverberated through the ground, and its breath wafted over me. Rotting fish and once again, the sweet fragrance of the sea. Its tone took on a hint of mirth. “Thanks for the meal…!” It rolled into a content slumber. I smiled, incredulous. Annoyed yet enthralled, I jabbed it in the head with my crook, aiming for where it looked most vulnerable. Its eyes snapped open once more, every pupil narrowed into harsh slits. A low hiss emanated from some orifice. 

“What is it…?” 

“What did you do with my cows?” 

“I ate them, you hairless monkey. Leave me alone.” The beast shoved me lazily with one of its fins. 

I tapped its head with my crook again. “Did you leave any behind?”

It laughed like an old frog, revealing rows upon rows of teeth. 

“HA! HA! HA!” Each bellow was distinct and guttural. Then its invisible lips curled into a smile. “No…every last one of them, I ate. Learn to share. Such greed isn’t flattering in this age.” It continued to grin, leisurely. “I left your sheep after all.” 

That was true. Still, I started to kick it, each strike landing solidly into a layer of blubber, thumping.

“Gh—Stop that! You whelp… Leave me alone!” It grunted, rumbled, and tried to turn away. It was entirely helpless on land, especially after such a heavy meal. It couldn’t do a thing. “Fine…! I’ll give some back once I’m done. Have some patience!”

“You promise?” I stopped, raising an eyebrow. It shifted its mass, to cover the spot where I had assailed it, grunting with effort. 

“Yes…” I felt its heavy, furious glare, multiplied by the number of eyes. “Now let me rest, or I’ll soon have enough energy to eat you, too.” 

I glanced at its huge, limp form, prone on the grass… you would be doing nothing of the sort. 

With that hollow threat to neatly tie off our exchange, I was satisfied. I nodded, and turned back to the path. At least I knew what had become of my cows. It would've been more troubling to not know where they had gone. 

The next day a dense morning mist had settled over the waters. A fine dew settled on my eyelashes as I stepped outside. The sunny Spring of the day before was nowhere to be found. Nevertheless, I returned to collect my dues. 

The creature’s hulking form remained where it had lain yesterday, the mass pulsing with a sleepy breath. 

“Well?” I intoned, seating myself by its head. 

It groaned, turning, scraping its fins across the ground. “What do you want…?”

I frowned. “You must be joking. I want my cows.”

It heaved a massive sigh, rustling the pasture with its sour breath. “Do you have any idea how long it takes…? The next Winter might come by the time I am finished.” 

The next Winter… I disliked the flavor of sheep’s milk and cheese. 

Irritated, I snapped. “If I cut you open, would I get my cows sooner?”

The beast huffed. “You have no knife sharp or long enough. No sword can pierce my hide.” It drawled the truth. My daggers were blunt and would have begun to rust in the moistened air. As my mind drifted about my pantry and kitchen(my poor cutlery!), it chanced upon some boxes I had set away in the Autumn before. I’d saved them for a golden afternoon. After a second spent deliberating the value they had to me, I stood with a sigh.

“Wait here, will you?”

“I cannot go anywhere. Go about your foolish endeavors.” 

The water boiled and the kettle hissed. I cupped a handful of dark, dried leaves into it, where they sank slowly, bleeding aroma and color.

“Have some tea.”

“Poison won’t do anything, you know.”

“It’s not poison, it’s tea.” I set the tray on a nearby stump and sat down next to it. “It’s good for digestion.” I’d learned of it a long time ago. I continued to harvest it yearly, as the flavor held sentimental value to me. 

A thin appendage branched out, wrapping around the pot. “It’s hot, so be careful,” the appendage flinched.

“Warn me sooner…”

“Ingrate!” I laughed, and bundled the teapot in leaves. It lifted it and tipped the whole pot’s contents easily into its maw.

“It hardly has any taste…” It muttered.

“If all you’ve eaten is fish and my cows, of course. It’s not a particularly strong tea.”

“I wouldn’t say no to more, however.” The skin around its eyes crinkled, pulled in all directions as it leered.

A thin smile crept onto my lips as I chuckled. “How polite of you.”

The next morning the mist returned; thicker than the last. It began to creep gently under my door, in wisps. As I set the kettle upon the stove, I heard the faint, foghorn song of some ancient creature. I felt a deep chill run through my body. How beautiful... Tenderly, I opened the door, and set water to boil before I closed my eyes and sat down to listen. It was low, mournful. It was saying goodbye to someone who wouldn’t be able to hear it. I had heard that song before. The melody was not the same, nor the lyrics, but I had absolutely heard that song before. I’d sung one like it.

I set the tray once more on the stump, which appeared to drift atop the fog. 

“Good morning.”

The mist had grown so thick that, even standing next to the beast, I couldn’t see its extremities. Its fins and tails seemed to stretch into the distance forever, imposing and ancient. When it heard me approach, I saw its form begin to move, the mist spilling off its back. 

“Hello there.” It gingerly reached for the pot. I’d made sure it wasn’t scalding, so it swallowed the tea with ease. 

It set the pot back down on the tray with a muted clink. 

I sat on the damp grass, and wrung my hands. It was cold. 

The melody of that song I’d heard in the morning whispered through my mind, and I became restless, fidgeting, uprooting the grass with my hands. 

I wanted to ask, to hear from it that it knew what I felt, that we were kindred spirits, below the facade. Presumptuous. Arrogant or…pathetic? 

I sneered to myself. I should ask. Yet if I was wrong… The gentle rise and fall of the beast’s sides had stopped. 

“Why are you still here? Did you not hear what I said yesterday?”

“No, I—”

“I can’t bear you sitting there, giggling and grumbling to yourself.” 

“Were you…?”

“Go home.” 

The mist didn’t disperse as it had the day before, which made it harder to forget what I’d heard in the morning. I hummed to myself only the melody I remembered. I wanted to hear it again. I’d already kicked the thing, threatened to cut it open. Yet to ask about that song, something about the song itself… it felt wrong to intrude. I knew how it felt. Or at least, I thought I did.  How I’d felt when I had been in the state of mind to sing that way. So I told myself: it had promised to return my cows. That was the only transaction that mattered between us. As I entered a restless sleep, on the verge of dreaming, I realized I was afraid. 

I continued to bring it tea, though I left each time without a word, and simply gathered the tidy tray the following morning, replacing it with the next. Each time I set the tray down in silence, I placed another brick in the wall between us. How comfortable a wordless routine can be. The mist remained within the valley. I suspected the beast had brought the mist with it. It would shrivel under the summer sun if it didn’t. I didn’t mind, as it kept things quiet. The nymphs left as a result. I supposed it was too gloomy for them. Good riddance.

For the next few months. I found ways to spend my time near the water. Maybe subconsciously, I was drawn to it. I had never been to the sea. Now, greedily, I’d convinced myself I had some sentimental value attached to it. Seeing a willow bough dip into the waves, I took it and fashioned an angler’s rod. Over time the pastures below the water had become murky and dark, as the soil had sloughed away. The foggy skies didn’t help visibility. From the depths I pulled up rockfish, eels, rougheyes, and trout. All the while, questions about the song from that morning burned in my mind.

I faltered and convinced myself that the natural order of things was all in place. This is how things should be. The burning question cooled to a smoldering ember, then to a cold lump of charcoal that I tossed aside.

One morning, I awoke to the sun shining through my bedroom window. Brighter than it had been in months. I stumbled downstairs, bleary. My hands trembled as I gently set my kettle on the stove. Minutes passed in silence, as I stood there with the cool metal in my grasp. I meandered to the chair by the door and collapsed into it. It was almost noon by the time I stepped outside to the dry, cool breeze of early Autumn. Over time the water had slowly lowered, exposing bare rocks and muddy slopes. Young green vines crept down the hill, the first to reclaim the fertile soil. 

The beast was gone. The sunny pasture looked as if it had never been inhabited, besides a patch of yellowed, shriveled grass. My gaze fell upon two dark, glossy forms. Something warm welled up in my throat. My eyes moistened, as I began to laugh. Standing in that warm sunny pasture, as if the flood had never happened, as if the creature had never pulled itself ashore, I knelt by the infant calves.

That time comes to me now and again, a feeling of regret like the rising and ebbing tides. I feel strongly when it does, that I should have asked about what it sang. Nothing has touched my heart as deeply since.