Knee-Deep Water

Marin walked slowly through the knee-deep water. Her skimmer dragged behind her, tied to her waist with a rope. It was too shallow to use now. Besides, there was no wind. So Marin walked.

All around her, for miles and miles in every direction, was water. Flat, shallow, crystal blue water. But that didn’t bother Marin. Water was what she knew. Water was what they all knew. On Kai, water was practically all there was.

Small fish swam around Marin’s sandaled feet, though she hardly noticed. She continued to walk forward—the gentle sun beating down on her—as if it were the only thing she could do. Occasionally, the skimmer dragging behind her snagged on a rock, forcing her to turn around to pull it free. The small sailboat was perfect for traversal through the wavelands. On a good day, when the tides were right and the wind favored you, you could travel more than three times as fast on a skimmer. But today, speed was not a priority for Marin. So she walked, skimmer tied to her waist, dragging behind her.

On Kai, where the water expanded in every direction, it was important to pay attention to the tides. Though the water could be as low as ankle-deep in the mornings, it could quickly rise to chest-deep by the afternoon. That was why it was important to keep a skimmer. You couldn’t survive for long at high tide, this far away from a village.

But now the water was only knee-deep, so Marin walked. She was used to it, used to being so far from the village. As a fisher, she spent many long days miles from the village, hunting her prey. She was pretty good at it too. The harpoon she kept strapped to the side of her skimmer had killed thousands of fish. The net she kept in the skimmer’s storage box had captured entire schools. She was frequently the top catch of her village. They relied on her.

Marin wasn’t sure which she preferred more: her time spent in the village or her time spent alone in the water. Of course, the water was still in the village as well. You didn’t escape the water, simply built on top of it. Her small but bustling village was built on a network of rafts, constructed of wood salvaged from the few swamp-forests that dotted the lands to the north. In the mornings, the water was so low you could walk between the rafts. In the afternoons, you stuck to the bridges, or took a skimmer.

Ren had told Marin once of a village to the east built on tall stilts, and another to the north actually built in the canopy of the swamp-forest trees. But Marin didn’t know if she believed her. Marin’s hunts had taken her miles in every direction, and she had never come across any village like these. Only villages just like their own: small but bustling networks of rafts. Besides, since Ren spent so much time in bed, how could she have found out about these places?

Marin continued to walk slowly through the knee-deep water. She knew that soon it would reach her thighs, and then her waist. Besides the sun beaming above, it was her only indication of time passing. Around this time she would normally prepare to switch to the skimmer. But today, she walked.

Just how long had she been walking? She had left the village when the water was only shin-deep, and now it lapped above her knees. Subconsciously, she knew this meant she had been walking for over four hours. But even though she had been walking for so long, her skimmer held no fish. Inside the storage box was only the net. Her harpoon, still strapped to the side, was unbloodied.

Fish swam all around her, even occasionally brushing by her feet. The fish were beautiful, multicolored creatures with scales that reflected the pure sunlight above. At any moment she could have caught any number of them. They swam so close to her, so comfortable with her presence that she could have simply snatched them out of the water with her bare hands. But she did not. She did not unstrap her harpoon, nor remove her net. All Marin did was walk.

Ren had always been so envious of her fish catching capabilities. After all, the whole village praised Marin for her abilities. It was easy to see how a younger sister could get jealous. But Marin had never understood the praise. She fished to feed Ren and herself. What was leftover, she traded to the villagers for supplies. Fishing was an act of survival, not something to be praised for.

Not so long ago Marin hadn’t even needed to fish. Her father and mother did all the fishing for the family. They were the ones the village praised. Marin’s only job was to look after Ren, who spent most of her time in the bed of their raft-home. Some mornings, when Ren was feeling better and the tide was low, they would walk around the village together. Marin would even give Ren a few coins she’d saved up to buy sweets from the stalls. She hoped this would encourage Ren to get out of bed more often. Unfortunately, as Marin grew older, she realized lack of encouragement wasn’t the thing keeping Ren from getting up.

Eventually, their father began taking Marin out on fishing voyages, teaching her how to fish properly. He taught her how to cast the net, how to wield the harpoon, even how to maintain and fix the skimmer. Before long, Marin was bringing home just as many fish as her father was.

She loved seeing the look on Ren’s face when she brought home a bucket of fish. Wide-eyed, she’d look at it as if she was looking at a bucket of glimmering coins. Marin often asked their father when they could take Ren fishing. She knew how much Ren would love it, being out on the water, riding on the skimmer. He always promised her that they would take Ren in the future, but they never did.

Without that fishing knowledge, Marin wasn’t sure what she and Ren would do now. Years ago, on a routine fishing trip, their father and mother failed to return home before dusk. Marin and Ren stayed up all night waiting for them to return. It was dangerous to be on the water after dark, especially with only a skimmer. By morning, they were still nowhere to be seen. That afternoon, the village sent out a search party. Two mornings later, they returned with only a skimmer. The skimmer that Marin now dragged behind her, as she walked slowly through the knee-deep water.

When would Marin turn around? When would she reach down and catch one of the many fish circling around her? When would she head back to the village, to show those beautiful fish to Ren? No. Marin continued to walk forward, her mind still turning over the events of the past.

The deaths of her parents, the prized fishers, had created a deep void in the village. A void that Marin had needed to hastily fill. She had had no choice. The village needed the fish, and Marin needed to feed Ren and herself. So she began to voyage, by herself, even though fishing voyages were almost always done in tandem. Thankfully, due to the many years of practicing with their father, she quickly got the hang of it. Fishing was now easy for Marin. Leaving Ren alone for long stretches of time, was not.

A large, golden fish brushed by Marin’s leg, breaking her trance. Marin looked down at it as it swam by. It was the most beautiful fish she had ever seen. Its body looked like a koi fish, but with a tail fin that stretched far behind it, like a glimmering veil flowing gently through the water. It swam past Marin, then stopped and turned around, as if it was waiting for her to catch up. Marin continued forward to meet it, and it once again swam forward, stopped, and turned around. This surprised Marin. She had never seen a fish behave this way. It was almost like it was asking her to follow.

Marin followed the golden fish. Or maybe she just continued to walk forward, as she had already been doing. Maybe the fish was following her, but from the front. Or maybe the fish was just a fish, and it was doing what fish do: swimming. She continued forward, walking slowly through the knee-deep water. Her skimmer dragged behind her—still tied to her waist with a rope—the harpoon still strapped to the side, unused, the fish net still in the storage box, unused.

The night before, Marin had returned home after a long fishing voyage to find Ren permanently asleep. Subconsciously, Marin knew this was going to happen eventually. The village elder had warned her that Ren was growing worse, that she wasn’t long for this world. But that didn’t make it hurt any less. Marin stayed by her side all night, holding her as she gradually grew colder, cursing herself for spending so much time away fishing, but mostly just crying.

At dawn, Marin prepared her younger sister for burial. On Kai, where the water stretched endlessly in every direction, they didn’t bury their dead in the ground. Instead, Marin watched with the rest of the village as the elder wrapped Ren’s body in ceremonial cloth. Then, with Marin’s help, they gently lifted Ren onto Marin’s skimmer—once their father’s skimmer—careful not to get any part of her wet.

After placing the body—her sister’s body—on the skimmer, Marin grabbed the rope attached to the front, tied it around her waist, and set off. Behind her, the villagers began their prayer, which slowly faded as she walked further and further from the village. Since it was morning, the water was only shin-deep. With the weight of a human on top, even a frail one like Ren, the skimmer frequently caught on the rocks below, making progress difficult. But as the hours passed, the water rose, making the journey less physically demanding.

Now, Marin continued that walk slowly through the knee-deep water. Behind her dragged the skimmer, her sister resting on top. In front of her the golden fish continued to swim a few paces ahead, confident enough now to not look back every few moments to make sure she was still following. Marin had no idea where she was going. Her only instructions were to journey west, to the place where the sun met the sea. There, her sister would find rest. She had no idea how long that would take, but that was okay. Marin was in no rush to return to the village. She had no one to return to. So, she followed the fish.

Occasionally, the golden fish’s long veil brushed Marin’s legs. What was a fish like this doing out here? It seemed so big that it surely couldn’t survive at low tide. But its shimmering, golden scales mesmerized her. Just being in its presence invigorated her. The skimmer she dragged behind her felt lighter. The water, lapping at her knees, felt easier to move through. It would be hours before the sun would touch the water, but following this fish, she suddenly felt like she had the energy to walk indefinitely.

The constant forward motion helped distract Marin from her emotions. Her mother was gone. Her father was gone. And now, Ren was gone. What did she have left to lose? What would she do after completing this journey?

Another fish brushed past her left leg. It was a second golden koi, almost identical to the first, though slightly smaller. It too had a long tail fin, a veil of shimmering golden light. It swam up to the other fish and brushed its body against it, like it was saying hello. It turned to look at Marin, then continued forward, keeping pace with the first fish.

Now Marin followed two golden fish. Two fish she had never seen before in all her years of fishing. Their tail fins extended far behind them, creating almost a bridge that Marin walked between. Where were they going? Why did they insist on swimming in front of her? Did they know she was a fisher? That she could swiftly kill them before they even knew it?

Even so, Marin had no desire to harm these two golden fish. She had little desire to harm any fish really. The only thing she wanted to do, the only thing she could do, was keep walking slowly through the knee-deep water, towards where the sun met the sea.

The presence of the second fish invigorated Marin as much as the first. The skimmer felt even lighter, like she was pulling nothing. Her legs moved swiftly through the water, as if she was becoming a fish herself. The sensation intrigued her. She tried speeding up, to catch up with the fish. But as she increased her speed, they did as well, always keeping the same distance between them.

So Marin slowed back to a walk, still continuing forward, following the two fish. The three traveled in silence, the skimmer dragging behind them. Moments passed. Time seemed to stretch on indefinitely.

After a while, Marin felt a nibbling at her ankles and looked down to see a third golden fish. This one was much smaller, and much more playful. It nipped at Marin’s ankles, then swam around her in tight circles. It swam up to greet the other two fish, wedging itself between them, then turned around and swam through their trailing tails. It seemed almost like a child playing. It swam back towards her and continued directly through her feet, almost causing Marin to stumble. It swam underneath the skimmer, then brushed up against both its sides.

This small fish fascinated Marin. It was like a fish that had never swam before, eager to stretch out its fins for the first time. It swam back to Marin and started nipping at her open toes, almost like it was trying to tickle her. Marin tried shooing it away with her foot, but it quickly swam back to her and rubbed against her calf.

Marin stopped walking, bent down, and stuck her hand in the water. In front of her, the two larger fish stopped as well, turning around. The small fish swam around Marin’s hand, brushing it from all sides. It nipped at her fingers, then swam figure eights between her legs. Marin let out a small laugh, the first sound she had made since beginning the journey.

The skimmer, still carrying its forward momentum, gently bumped into Marin from behind. Marin looked back at it, her eyes pausing for a moment. The top of the skimmer was now empty.

Slowly, Marin bent her knees and sat down in the water. She didn’t mind getting wet. The small fish continued to nibble at her hand, then swam to brush up against her chest. Marin watched as it swam around her. She laughed again, then began to softly cry. After the fish seemed to have had its fill, it circled her one last time, then swam towards the two other fish still floating a few paces away. When it reached them, the two fish turned around and resumed swimming forward.

Marin sat in the knee-deep water, watching the three fish swim towards where the sun met the sea.

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Thank you for reading Stories, an ever-expanding collection of original fictional stories. This story was written by me, Connor Aidan. If you enjoyed this story, then why don’t you share it with a friend? Maybe they’ll like it too. Once again, I’m Connor Aidan, and this is Stories.