[1] Burya
[2] Hala
Буря[1] rose from the waves dripping water—purple in the night—spitting foam and, with his head tilted back, the darkness in his eyes facing skywards—ready to swallow the moon—he laughed a roaring laugh, a call to Áhpi, the endless sea that had called out to him, to which he had returned and would always return when [2]هاله danced through the valleys of the waves, seaweeds tangled in her hair—
Laivanmurtaja
she called him and pointed him towards the nearest ship, eyes glowing pale and bright like the moon itself, as wood splintered and sailcloth tore apart and Буря’s voice caught in the shrouds, twisting them, raveling them until it was all over, and he showered her in the treasures that had been hauled up in the ship; the treasures that she inspected carefully
frowning at the worthless plunder—
the flotsam and jetsam that would wash up on the distant shores the next day
a year from now
in a lifetime
an eon—
smiling quietly at the rarities—
finding a place for every single one of them, secret and hidden in Áhpi’s depth, and all that remained was a smile that lingered in the light of the moon and echoed in the beating of the seabirds’ wings long after—
Laivanmurtaja
she called him even though Буря was the name Áhpi had given him as the calm had become too heavy and a rumbling rose from the deep—and Буря had responded and raised the waves; he had answered Áhpi’s summoning, her call—endless and ancient—
to sing for her
to breathe life into the sea
to mold the water into mountains
resounding
like thunder
like drums
until his hollow eyes had fallen onto هاله—the same and yet another—draped in mystery and time, with a childlike innocence that was as destructive as withering age;
Laivanmurtaja
she called him and he followed her voice, drowned himself in the echo of her smile—
Laivanmurtaja
she called him and ships he did break for as long as ships’ planks shattered and sails took flight like ghosts into the night, as long as sailors returned to Áhpi’s embrace, sailors who like Буря had followed her call not knowing that it had been هاله they had been looking for all along, هاله would dance and only when the last of the treasure had found its place—on shore or in the deep—did she sink back into the waves from whence she came, Áhpi’s aura, to call quietly to those who knew how to listen and wait, while Буря slept, for the next stormbound night that would summon him from the purple waves, and the next shipwreck.
Written by Merle Emrich.
Cover photo by John Towner.