“Soulsong”
A Nightsea Short Story by Bear Wiseman
Author’s Note: Back when the Islands of Nightsea series was a team project, we had a creative challenge to write a story about “the night singer,” who was able to heal people’s trauma slowly by singing to them. Both myself and Jason Maurer wrote stories based on this concept and I felt like it was time this one saw the light of day! It covers topics like grief and loss, compassion and companionship, healing and self-sacrifice, and letting go. I really hope you enjoy it!
The singer sat expectantly in the sand of the cove, gazing calmly at the pool of starry night in the bay, as the soft sound of footfalls in the sand drew nearer. The one who approached was tall, with only two arms and gills on their neck that were currently closed and unmoving. Six glassy pastel-colored eyes were situated between ridges on their face in two ascending rows, with freckles that ran up their ridged lavender-colored cheekbones, with a small nose and mouth. There was no hair to be found on them, but their digits were webbed slightly and their skin moist and thick. They sat next to the singer and, following suit, dug their webbed feet into the sand where the Nightsea touched the shore.
Water lapped at their feet. Well, not water. There certainly seemed to be some water in it, as one would drown if they spent too much time within the Nightsea, but it was lighter, airier than water. The Nightsea wasn’t a substance with which any of the life on The Island seemed to have experience. Knowing, though, what had happened during the end of things, no one dared to try and swim. Finding their way to The Island was, in itself, a miracle and trying to survive out there in what seemed like an endless, bottomless expanse, even for fun, seemed like a frivolity that none of the survivors could afford.
The singer had seen this person and a few others like them in the village many times, referring to them as Swaa, a common sound they made when communicating with one another. Of course, their people shared no common language with the others on The Island as of yet, but it was an unspoken truth that survivors of the end of all things were few and far between, so communication or not, they must all help one another. The singer had taken to reading faces as the collection of mismatched races in the village slowly and surely developed a common language. Their faces weren’t usually hard to read, each with its own burden of loss and incomprehension as to what had become of their reality.
The duo sat in silence for a moment before the singer turned to face the Swaa, who showed a nervousness on their furled cartilaginous brow. The singer offered a hand gently to the Swaa, who gazed uneasily out into the bay, its narrow opening that led out to the endless horizon lit by brightly shining bugs that hovered in the air. The Swaa looked back to them and took their slender fingers in their own webbed hand. The singer began.
Soft, melodic notes came from their lips as they looked out on the sea that was also a sky. The water that was not water began to ripple, not from the floating island’s movement, but from the notes. The singer increased the volume and the Nightsea’s rippling increased furiously, as if there was a quake resonating from beneath. The singer, feeling the heartbeat of their companion, listened to the Nightsea and the rhythm of the Swaa’s heart as the two began to merge into a single rhythm. The Nightsea became perfectly still within the cove as the two gazed into the not-water.
The dark sky and galaxies that shone from the depths dispersed to reveal the image of a world full of pools and ponds. Many Swaa of varying sizes and colors were there, dipping in and out of the pools, diving deep and coming up with shells and mollusks, splashing and frolicking in a simple yet fulfilling life. Though the singer couldn’t hear their voices, they seemed a quiet bunch, shy even, but happy and carefree.
The Swaa began to shudder and make a sound, “afs aafs,” and the singer wondered if they were weeping, as tears of their own began to fall. The Swaa’s heart rate rose as the distress and sorrow came to the surface. The song’s tempo rose in natural response to the music flowing between them. The singer could feel the Swaa’s feelings. They were homesick, they were not used to scavenging, they had lost countless loved ones. This island was not as comfortable as their home world had been. The singer felt their grief flow through the song and into their heart... the loss of simplicity. The loss of companionship. The loss of family, stability, normality. Nothing would ever be the same again and the enormity of the fact could overwhelm and consume. The Swaa felt it welling up and the song drank it away, easing their heart.
The song began to still as the Swaa’s heartrate slowed. The singer’s heart rate had risen, but they did not let it show. The Swaa, with their small mouth, joined the singer with a humming harmony, created as naturally as breathing, and together they sang away the crushing enormity that the world, the multiverse, everything had ceased to exist as it once had.
When the song finally ended, the Swaa turned to the singer and took their face in their webbed hands. They pressed their head against the singer’s, a gesture that, from the images in the pool, the singer took for gratitude.
It was always gratitude.
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Artwork by Henriikka K-C (@henhensart)
“It felt like a fever dream put into words.”
