Red Sky at Morning
Red Sky at Morning
Red sky at morning, sailors take warning;
Red sky at night, sailors' delight
.
(ancient mariners' rhyme)
1.
There have always been stories of monsters from the deep; horrible creatures covered in lashing tentacles and gnashing teeth. And no one has ever seen them personally, but they always know someone. A friend, a cousin, an employee's great aunt's doctor. But as time wore on more of the world was explored, the map grew. All the edges receded, and the monsters drawn in the corners were pushed out. Questions were answered, mysteries were solved, and monsters no longer existed.
It was for that reason that Rick set out for the Dead Zone on a clear Tuesday morning, the sky still streaked with bright red as the sun climbed over the horizon. It was rumored to contain islands full of treasure, surrounded by bobbing ice. It was also rumored that no one had ever returned. Some stories described all manner of sea monsters. Others referenced a creeping madness that led men to kill each other and crash their ships into the rocks, the sea rising up against them, or simply disappearing without a trace.
Rick reasoned that someone must have returned from there, or there would be no stories.
Unfortunately, no one else seemed to agree. The locals all gave the area a wide berth, and everyone from Rick's stretch of coastline was too afraid of an adventure.
They called him reckless, stupid, dangerous. But he'd be the one coming back with his ship low in the water, filled to the brim with gold. He'd wanted to do something like this all his life, but somehow he'd gotten stuck in a desk job for years. He always told himself that one day he'd quit the dead-end job at Aperture Science, where he was never satisfied and never seemed to be able to satisfy his superiors, and was never sure if he'd have a job the next day. And then he realized his hair was turning gray, and it hit him that he'd die at his desk if he didn't do something about it immediately.
So he quit, and took to the sea. It was a hard life to get into. The money wasn't good. And he'd expected to feel free at last, but being out there alone in the middle of the ocean, he'd been just as trapped as he had at his desk. So he went one step further. One final try at the life he SHOULD have. Everything he had went into it: Money, time, energy... And if this didn't work out...
It was only a small ship, with no crew to help him pilot it. But he could make all the trips to and from his own personal Treasure Island (his favorite book growing up) that he needed. Hell, he could live there. Commission his own solid gold mansion. Shine so damn bright they wouldn't be able to look at him.
It took about four hours before the rocks came into view. There had been a pod of dolphins following him as he left the mainland harbor, but after a while they left him. That on its own wasn't weird, but they just kept racing back and forth perpendicular to his path, squeaking in distress. It was strange behavior, and a little unsettling, but Rick wouldn't let it deter him.
As the fisherman drew near some rocky islands jutting out of the water, he noticed that they were covered in scratches. Some looked like giant claw-marks (or tooth-marks?), but others almost looked like some kind of writing. Rick stared at the massive graffiti as he floated past. And actually, some of it seemed to be in English. It was almost legible in places...but it didn't make sense.
“'Rats cannot throw up,'” Rick read aloud slowly, his forehead creasing in a frown. “'The square root of rope is string'? What the hell...?”
The worst one was just when he was almost through the islands. It was scratched into the lava rock, with waves washing over it.
'HUMAN BEINGS CAN SURVIVE UNDER WATER,' it declared, and then underneath in clearer lettering was added, 'BUT NOT FOR VERY LONG.'
Rick shivered and increased his speed, wondering for the first time if he really should have stuck to tamer waters.
There was a larger island in the distance, but the closer he got, the more uneasy Rick became. The signs of life that should have been everywhere... weren't. The water was dark and choppy. He didn't notice the undercurrents shifting, and the rivulets moving behind him. The boat kept on course with minimal pull, and Rick took out his spyglass to get a better look at the island ahead. There was more of the terrible scratching and writing, though he couldn't make it out. There was all kinds of wreckage, and some of it looked... far older that Rick had ever seen outside a historical collection.
Suddenly Rick realized that the sea was unusually calm. An odd shadow seemed to have fallen over his ship. He slowly lowered the spyglass and turned around.
Just behind him, taller than the mast of the tallest ship in the harbor, loomed a giant form. It was humanoid and looked rough, with deep purples and greens swirling sluggishly over its body. His body. The creature seemed to be male. Cloudy pink eyes focused slowly on Rick, and the thing opened a craggy mouth to emit an ear-splitting croak.
Rick fell back a step before whirling and grabbing the wheel, turning it hard and speeding away as fast as he could. For just a second he thought he could outrun the thing, but then a monstrous tentacle rose up in front of him and grabbed the boat, jerking it up in the air and forcing Rick to hold on for dear life.
The creature uttered another terrible rumble from deep in its chest, and more tentacles rose up to pick bits off Rick's boat.
“Hey,” Rick choked out. He coughed and sputtered and found his voice. “HEY!” he boomed. “What the FUCK d'ya think yer doin' to my ship!?”
The pink eyes darkened and the massive head lowered towards him. The whole body was covered in scars, and even broken-off weapons here and there. The ship still hung in the air, swaying slightly.
“Put my boat back in the water RIGHT NOW before I rip ya apart!” Rick roared.
An odd rattle emitted from the creature's throat, and the tentacle holding the boat shook suddenly.
“Hot water... freezes faster... than cold water,” the monster rasped, raising the boat up higher, his disturbing pink eyes still locked on Rick. His rough voice had an odd lilt to it.
“Wh-what? No it don't! Put me down, ya freak!”
The boat stopped in mid-air with a jerk. The craggy brow furrowed deeply.
“While the submarine is vastly superior to the boat in every way, over 97% of people still use boats for aquatic transportation.” He cast a disparaging look at Rick's little boat.
“Who's gonna have their own submarine? That's just dumb!”
The monster looked thoroughly vexed now. He gave the boat a little shake, which nearly sent Rick flying. “The submarine -”
“No it ain't,” Rick shot back angrily. “It's more dangerous an' harder to keep up an' takes more energy, an' ain't half as nice to be in. Ya can't fish from a submarine, an' yer not gonna get many people takin' long submarine rides just fer fun. A little one maybe, but not like they would on a boat.”
The pink eyes blinked a few times. The boat wavered.
“Put. Me. Down,” Rick growled.
The boat crashed down about twenty feet to the waves, and Rick fell to the deck with a pained yelp. He cautiously got to his feet again, rubbing his shoulder and ribs. When he looked up, the giant man was still looming over him, tentacles snaking through the water restlessly.
“So what, ya gonna eat me now?” Rick snapped, straightening up. “I'll tear ya apart from inside.”
Still the pink eyes regarded him, and there was a new thoughtfulness there. “Whales are twice as intelligent, and three times as delicious, as humans,” he murmured, more to himself than to Rick.
“Never tried one, myself.” Rick glanced around surreptitiously. He was surrounded on all sides by rocky outcroppings, bobbing chunks of ice, and huge, scarred tentacles. There was no easy way out.
“...The most poisonous fish in the world is the orange ruffy,” the monster suddenly offered, his voice gradually growing smoother as he spoke more.
“...Nah, that ain't right. I've eaten that plenty 'a times.”
“Everything but its eyes is composed of a deadly poison,” the creature insisted, puffing up his chest a bit and looking down at Rick condescendingly.
“No it ain't.”
“The ruffy's eyes are composed of a less-harmful deadly poison.” The pink eyes turned to the sky, avoiding looking at the fisherman.
“Yer wrong.”
The unsettling gaze returned to him. “I am always right.”
“You ain't said ONE thing so far that made any sense.”
Tentacles writhed in the water, making the little boat sway violently as the monster rumbled in obvious annoyance.
“What're you supposed to be, anyway?”
The creature's whole body stilled, and he drew himself up rather impressively. “The kraken sleepeth in the mighty depths,” he intoned deeply.
“...Kraken? That's an old story. C'mon, really, now.”
The monster huffed in irritation, and his tentacles encircled the boat, not lifting it up but holding it just on the surface. “The caged whale knows nothing of the mighty depths,” he added, pitching his voice even lower.
“Okay, whatever. If ya say so.”
“...wholly accurate and VERY interesting...” the creature mumbled under his breath.
“Whatever ya say.” Rick looked around again. Still stuck. Swimming for it would be even worse. “I'm Rick. I'm an adventurer.” He began to stick out his hand, but quickly stopped, as the creature's hands were bigger than his entire body.
“Rick,” the kraken said slowly, turning the sound over in his mouth. “Rick. Derivative... of Richard... King Richard the Lion-Hearted fought beside Shiva and Amaterasu in the Olmec Crusades...”
“Pretty sure he didn't.”
Pink eyes narrowed peevishly. “...Rick,” he began again. “A coward. A blowhard. Smells of dead fish.”
“You shut yer mouth,” Rick muttered. “You don't know a damn thing. You don't smell so good yerself. An' yer sure not much to look at.”
“The kraken is the most handsome seadweller.”
“Not a chance. Pretty sure an anglerfish's prettier'n you.”
The kraken growled in agitation. Rick laughed nervously. Whatever else the thing was, he was HUGE.
“Take it easy, I'm just jokin'. You got... a name? Or are ya just... 'The Kraken?'”
The pink eyes grew distant, and the tentacles relaxed for a minute. “...According to most advanced algorithms... the world's best name... is Craeg,” he murmured, staring off to the horizon.
“...Craig? Uh... I mean Craeg? Okay. How long you lived up here, Craeg?”
His eyes focused again. He hesitated. “...Twelve...” he began, then paused and started muttering to himself. “Twelve twelve twelve twelve twelve...”
“Uh... sounds like a long time...”
“Twelve twelve twelve twelve twelve...”
“Okay, got it.”
“T-twelve...”
“Okay!” Rick shouted. “Quit!”
Craeg jerked back as if stung, his tentacles jostling the boat and making it rock sharply. Rick hung on.
“Geez, what's wrong with you?” Rick complained.
Craeg swallowed uncomfortably. “...N-not... I... My insights are entirely relevant.”
“Not so far, they're not.” Rick stared down the kraken, if that's what it was. “An' you know it.”
The kraken's eyes narrowed dangerously, and the tentacles writhed in the water, and Rick realized that despite his best efforts, he was about to go the way of the other explorers.
“If yer gonna kill me, at least tell me first -” he yelled quickly. The tentacles paused. “W-was there ever an island 'a treasure out here? Or any treasure? Anythin' at all?”
Craeg stared at him, and his pink eyes were no longer cloudy. Rick noticed a curved bronze dagger stuck under his jaw. The odd skin (which was now mostly pale pink) had healed over most of it.
“There is only myself,” he replied, low and raspy. Then without another word he flipped backwards into the water. Rick had to grab onto the railing to keep from falling over when the wave from Craeg's passing rocked the little ship. The fisherman raced back to the wheel and sped away as fast as he could go. Behind him he heard an unearthly shriek, but he didn't look back.
2.
“Back already?” jeered an old fisherman as Rick clomped into the harbor bar. The others looked up from their drinks and called greetings, or laughed.
“What's wrong, Rick? Look like ya saw a ghost.”
“Get lost out there, Rick?”
Rick staggered to the bar. “Whiskey,” he ordered.
“Too scary out there for ya, Rick?”
The fisherman downed the glass of whiskey in two swallows, then gagged, choked, and went into an uncontrollable fit of coughing. The rest of the bar erupted in laughter.
“Gotta say, I never get tired of watching you drink, Rick. Don't know why you keep trying.”
“Shut up,” Rick finally managed to choke out. After a few more bone-shaking coughs, he straightened up and took a deep breath. “I got there. I made it.”
The room was silent for a brief moment, then an old man guffawed. “The Dead Zone? Come on now, we weren't born yesterday.”
“I'm tellin' ya I was there! I saw it! All rocky islands an' ice an'...” He trailed off, staring at a basket of fried squid tentacles someone else was eating.
“Aw man, he DID see a ghost!”
“It wasn't -” Rick stopped and took another breath, and forced himself to back up. “Hasn't anybody else... got close before? An' come back?”
“Nah, not close enough to see anything. What'd ya see?”
“I don't...”
“He didn't see nothing,” A taller man scoffed. “He got lost and went in circles.”
“Shut up!” Rick snarled. “I DID see somethin'. It was this... GIANT monster with a man's body an'... an' all these tentacles! Like an octopus!”
“You been drinking, Rick?”
“Nah, he can't handle real drink. Some kinda drug.”
“I bet he was just daydreaming while he was lost.”
“HEY!” Rick thundered. “All 'a you shut yer traps! I'm tellin' ya I saw it! An' it kept talkin' an' talkin', all kinds 'a shit that didn't make sense!”
“Whatever, Rick. If you chickened out, just say so. No shame in that, it's a dangerous place.”
“Yeah, ya don't have to keep makin' up stories.”
“It AIN'T just a...” Rick clamped his mouth shut on his rising voice. When he spoke again he was a bit calmer. “Look, come with me. I'll show ya.”
“...And never come back? No thanks.”
“Or get lost,” added the taller fisherman.
“C'mon Rick, if there's this huge monster out there, that's what's been eating everything that comes near. An' why didn't it eat you? Can't be yer good looks.”
“...I dunno, I thought it was gonna! But he got to arguin' with me instead. Kinda fulla himself.”
“Sounds like you were talking to yourself,” muttered the bartender.
Rick banged his fists down on the bar. “Okay, listen here,” he growled. “I'm gonna show all 'a ya, an' then you'll be sorry ya didn't believe me! I... I'll bet ya half my catch fer the next year.”
“...So half a minnow?”
The whole room erupted in laughter. Rick's face grew red.
“It ain't – Fine! My ship! If I'm wrong I'll give up my ship. It's all I got.”
The other men quieted down and muttered amongst themselves. “That's not much.”
“Hardly big enough to call it a ship.”
“Not in great shape.”
“You're pretty sure of yourself there,” a man with graying red hair spoke up.
“Damn right I am. This's the real thing. Yer gonna wanna see it yerselves.”
“...Okay.”
A hard, twisted grin rose up to Rick's face. “...An' when I'm right, I get half 'a ALL yer catches fer the next year.”
A few men looked grim, but one old man laughed. “Rick, if you're right, you can have my WHOLE catch for the rest of my goddamn life. Giant tentacle monsters... You're full of it.”
They set out the following week, with Rick in the lead, for the Dead Zone. He could hear the jeers, but set his jaw and stubbornly plowed through the waves. When the dolphins left them, the laughter behind him lessened considerably, and gained a nervous edge. When they got to the clawed-up rocks, it stopped altogether.
“Hey... Rick, this ain't where you went before, is it?” called out the tallest fisherman.
“Sure is,” he shot back grimly.
“This's... the actual Dead Zone, though. Nobody comes back.”
“Well. I did.”
“I dunno about this.”
“If yer too chicken shit to go out on the water, go on back home,” Rick snarled over his shoulder without turning. His voice echoed over the water in the still air.
“Shut yer trap, Rick,” the tall fisherman boomed out.
The waves were lapping softly, so the sound of something breaking the surface was immediately obvious. The men on the five other ships whirled around to find a great man-shaped beast rising out of the water to loom over them. Huge, cloudy pink eyes roved the small crowd. The fishermen stood frozen on deck.
The monster opened his mouth and a deep croak echoed out. He stared at them for a moment, then began again, enunciating each syllable. “Raseph, the Semetic god of war and plague, had a gazelle growing out of his forehead.”
The assembled fishermen had begun to edge towards their cabins, but Rick stalked closer on his own deck.
“You made that up,” he called out, making the other men flinch.
Craeg focused on him, and straightened up. “Rrrrrrrick. A liar and a fool.”
“Nope. I never heard 'a that. I bet it ain't even a myth. You don't know what yer talkin' about.”
A rattling growl emerged from the kraken's throat, and his tentacles thrashed in irritation.
“Avocados have the highest fiber and calories of any fruit.”
Rick cocked his head thoughtfully. “...Could be, yeah,” he allowed.
“...They are found in Australians,” Craeg finished haughtily.
“D'ya even think about what yer sayin?”
The kraken huffed sharply, his rough skin shifting to a deep reddish purple.
“NOW!”
Rick's head jerked down as the fishermen launched an attack. Harpoons, spears, and knives in hand, they swung their ships closer to Craeg's body. It was a decent strategy, as the tentacles were too long to be of much good close-up, but they ran right into his sharp, grasping fingers. The creature roared in pain as iron pierced his thick hide, and he lashed out. The prow of the nearest ship splintered, and the crew shouted and jumped overboard. As they tried to swim away the flailing tentacles caught them, grabbing, squeezing, strangling, forcing them down until the last air bubbles escaped from their burning lungs. The rest of the ships met with the same fate. A few of the fishermen tried to fight, and the tallest one even launched himself at the kraken with a long fish-gutting knife in each hand. He drove them into the monster's side before being tossed into the air. His spine cracked loudly in the air as a tentacle whipped him, and his broken body crashed back down to sink beneath the waves.
That left only Rick, planted to his deck and gaping in abject horror. The kraken was breathing hard as his clouded eyes turned to the last fisherman. He growled.
“H-hey now. Don't... You don't wanna...” Rick backed away slowly.
Quicker than he thought was possible, Craeg was wrapped around his boat, hissing and growling. Rick fell back, and suddenly cold, wet fingers bigger than his legs closed tight around him. He was lifted slowly into the air.
“The Schrodinger's cat paradox outlines a situation in which a cat in a box must be considered, for all intents and purposes, simultaneously alive and dead,” he rumbled, sharp teeth chattering together between words.
“Ah – uh... I... Think I mighta heard 'a that one,” Rick squeaked, fighting to pry the giant hand open.
Craeg leaned in closer. “Schrodinger created this paradox as a justification for killing cats,” he hissed softly, right into Rick's face.
A whimper escaped the fisherman's throat as he tried to slip out of Craeg's grip. “Oh God, I don't wanna die!”
“The likelihood of you dying within the next five minutes is 87.61%” the kraken snarled, giving Rick a sharp shake.
Rick choked on a scream and clung to the craggy fingers. “W-what... Why... Why's that?” he stammered.
Craeg blinked slowly, then a few more times. He shook his head. “...Based on... statistics... drawn from previously collected data...” he murmured uncertainly.
“Don't!” Rick cut in. “Don't kill me. Just... put me down. On my ship. L-lemme go.”
The kraken stilled, looking around slowly. “...Go,” he repeated distantly. “They are all dead.”
Rick gulped. “Yeah, an' I don't wanna be! Look, yer talkin' to me, yer not killin' me, so just... lemme go, an' I swear I'll never bother ya again, I won't tell a soul!”
Craeg's shoulders slowly drooped, but he didn't put Rick down. “...Leaving,” he mumbled to himself. “Coming and leaving.” He suddenly focused sharply on Rick. “You came back,” he said slowly but clearly.
“Y-yeah. Uh, sorry. That was... was a mistake. It... I won't do that again.” Rick couldn't stop himself from shaking now. The blood in the water below was starting to dissipate, but was still very apparent.
“You came back,” Craeg repeated, then hissed and flinched as a wave slapped into a fresh wound on his side.
“...Please lemme go,” Rick begged, no longer caring about his pride. “I'll do anythin' ya want. Wh-what... What c'n... What d'ya want from me? Please.”
The kraken sucked in a deep breath, staring at Rick. His grip loosened slightly. “I... You...” He closed his mouth and shuddered. “Ssssssstaaay?” he hissed softly.
“I – what!? God, no. What the hell makes ya think...” Rick bit his tongue before he gave the creature a reason to squeeze him to death. “Why?”
Craeg shifted uncomfortably. “You... speak.” He waved his free hand in vague frustration. “The... state of solitude... causes...” He waved his hand more forcefully, frowning deeply. “...Mental deterioration. I... I CANNOT...” He grimaced and looked pleadingly at Rick.
“I... I can't stay here. No. Outta the question. There's...” Rick gestured as much as he could. “There's nothin' here. I gotta earn my livin'. I... nah, there's no way.”
Craeg just kept staring at him hopelessly.
“Look, I... Ya want me to come back? I'll come back. Just, God, lemme go.”
The kraken looked pained. “...You are a liar. You will not come back.”
“No, I will! I swear, I'll come back.”
“When?”
“I... I dunno. Couldn't tell ya exactly. There's gonna be a whole shitstorm 'a trouble over all... this...” Rick gulped and tried to avoid looking into the water again.
“Stay?” Craeg asked again, quietly, almost wistfully.
“I can't stay,” Rick said slowly. “But look, I... I'll come back. If ya just let me go.”
The kraken regarded him seriously, then ponderously lowered him back to the deck, though he didn't let go just yet. “Swear it.”
Rick hesitated, then squeezed a big, scarred finger with both hands. “I-I'll come back. I swear.”
Craeg closed his eyes for a moment, and Rick saw that his eyelids were almost translucent. Then he carefully removed his hand, and Rick let out a breath he'd forgotten he was holding. The pink eyes were clear now as they stared through him. Then they narrowed dangerously.
“You are a liar,” the kraken hissed venomously. “Nothing more.” And he thrashed in an arc before crashing down to disappear into the water.
3.
When Rick left the Dead Zone for the second time, he had no intention of ever going anywhere near it again. In fact, the thought of heading as far inland as he could get and taking up farming, or going back to Aperture Science or something, crossed his mind a time or two.
Over the next few weeks Rick drifted in and out of the bar, looking around hopelessly, ordering a drink, and barely touching it. He went out to fish, but didn't catch much. He didn't think about how his money was running out. He didn't think about the fact that he needed to do something, anything. Sometimes he thought about the dead men's faces as they realized they would never see the light of another day. Sometimes he thought about Craeg, all alone in that icy bit of sea for who knew how many centuries, scratching increasingly ludicrous facts into the rock in a desperate attempt to keep himself sane. How long had it been since he'd spoken to anyone else? An eternity, probably.
...And again, the screams of agony and terror.
Rick never did move inland, nor did he return to the Dead Zone for many years. His hair thinned and silvered. He lost more weight than was good for him, then slowly gained it back threefold as his fish and bait shop gained a following and he started making a profit. He kept newspaper clippings and printouts of stories of those who disappeared in the Dead Zone next to the bathroom in his shop, and warned off anyone who mentioned going to check it out. Some of them listened. Others, he never saw again. No one did.
Until one returned.
At that point Rick was mostly gray, and developing more wrinkles than could be explained away by laugh lines. The young man – practically a boy – staggered into the bait shop, eyes wild, breathing hard, shivering uncontrollably, and dripping wet.
“Ph-phone,” he choked out. “Need to use your phone.”
“…Yeah, sure pal, here.” Rick handed over the cordless shop phone, frowning.
“L-lost mine in the water,” the younger man stammered, stamping his feet weakly, staring at the phone and painstakingly dialing a number.
Rick listened with growing horror as the young man told the police
“Everythin’ worked out?” the older man asked casually when the younger hung up.
He swallowed. “They’re sending out a team to investigate, but not until tomorrow.”
Rick closed up shop early that night, too preoccupied to stay.
He waited until nightfall to take his little skiff out on the water. It wouldn’t stand up to rough water for long, but he didn’t have any other option.
Out among the rocky outcroppings, it was hard to see through the fog. He pulled his coat tight around him and called out. “Craeg? Craeg!”
There was no answer. He couldn’t detect any change in the water.
“Prob’ly layin’ low. If he knows what’s good fer him,” Rick muttered, wiping cold sea spray from his face.
After hours of searching, he had to go back. He’d done all he could. He turned the little boat around.
That was when he saw the massive shape looming out of the fog.
“Craeg?” he called again, uncertainty tinging his tone. Of course it was Craeg. But it had been a long time.
As the kraken approached, Rick could see that he was more heavily scarred. One of his eyes was closed, and the other clouded.
“Craeg – hey, watch it!” Rick complained as the kraken bumped into his boat.
The creature stopped, and the gigantic head tipped down to look at the man glaring up at him. His mouth opened, and his scarred lips moved slowly.
“…’S been a while,” Rick mumbled.
The one pink eye blinked slowly. “Rrrrrrrrrick,” Craeg rasped slowly. He coughed and hacked and spat out something that looked sharp.
“Yeah, it’s me. Told ya I’d be back.” The fisherman grinned nervously. “You ain’t lookin’ so hot.”
The eye narrowed. “You… could stand to lose a few pounds.”
“Shut yer hole,” Rick complained. “Listen here, some guy that got away from ya’s callin’ down a team to hunt ya down.”
Tentacles lashed. “The kraken fears none.”
“Yeah, but they might mean business this time. Send in the big guns. Knock ya right outta the water.”
“Impossible,” Craeg muttered.
“Would ya listen to me fer a change!? Craeg, they’re gonna kill ya!”
The single pink eye narrowed.
“Ya gotta get outta here. Out to the middle ‘a the Atlantic, ‘s prob’ly the best place fer ya.”
“Too warm. This place is mine. I will defend it.”
“An’ when they got ya an inch from death, what good’s that gonna do?”
Craeg focused on Rick. His brow wrinkled slowly in concern.
“Look, I don’t – I don’t wanna see that happen to ya. Bad enough ya get all torn up like ya do – what happened to yer eye, anyway?”
The kraken hesitated. “…The bow and arrow revolutionized projectile warfare,” he murmured thoughtfully.
“Somebody shot ya with a bow an’ arrow?”
Craeg shook his head, and made a tube with his hands, then moved his finger quickly out from the end. “A projectile.”
Rick stared at him. “…A gun?”
The ancient kraken hesitated. “…A gun,” he repeated softly, then nodded to confirm it to himself. Rick could see a slight tremor in his hands.
“See? An’ ya lost yer eye, shit, ya gotta get away from here! They ain’t gonna stop at that! Ain’t there anywhere you c’n go?”
“A kraken's territory is vast.”
“Yeah, well not vast enough. What about... can ya go north? Up around Canada er somethin'?”
“North,” Craeg murmured distantly. “The solid form of dihydrogen monoxide is lighter than its liquid form.”
Rick stared at him for a long moment. “...Ice floats?” he slowly translated.
Craeg looked down at him.
“Can ya go... under the ice? All the way under, to the Pacific?”
The kraken frowned slowly. “...Krakens are non-migratory.”
“Krakens're about to be dead,” Rick growled.
“A turtle carries its home on its back, attached with a 5 inch hitch which may be purchased at any mercantile establishment,” Craeg muttered scornfully.
“C'mon now, this's yer life we're talkin' about!”
Craeg stared at Rick. He lowered himself to get a closer look. “The lives of the many outweigh the life of one,” he rumbled quietly.
There was the crack of a gun in the distance. A bullet hit a nearby chunk of ice. Rick jumped. Craeg winced slightly.
“Look, yer outta time. No more 'a this fatalistic crap, get yerself underwater an' start swimmin'. C'mon! Outta here! Quick!”
The kraken gazed into the distance as Rick tried to hurry him along. “...Home is where the heart is,” he mumbled.
Rick paused, his glare darkening. “Listen here, ya big pile 'a offal. You get under that ice right now. I'll see ya on the other side.”
Craeg's head jerked up. “Early attempts at creating a northern passage through the ice floes met with failure,” he pointed out. “The human body -”
“Ain't gonna go that way. Haveta be over land. Take me a while, but I'll get there, now go!”
The single pink eye stared at him curiously. “Humans are short-live, unreliable, and frequently lie.”
“I'm here, ain't I? Craeg, please!” He reached up to the kraken as another shot fired. Craeg hesitantly reached down to scoop him up and bring him up to eye-level. Rick stood shakily and placed his hands on the scarred cheekbone. “I ain't gonna watch ya get turned into calamari,” he murmured.
The eye focused on him for a long moment, then narrowed when a larger shot was fired, coming close to him. “The kraken is not chopped squid,” he muttered disdainfully, and gently placed Rick back on his ship.
“No way! Now get outta here!”
Craeg sank into the water up to his neck, watching Rick. “...You will come?” he asked in a small voice.
“Sure will. Just take me some time. Now get.”
“...Swear it?”
There was more gunfire. “I swear on my life, Craeg, now go!”
By the time the ships arrived, Rick was alone, his ship rocking in the water. The newcomers questioned the older man, but he was dazed and not very helpful. They made sure he was safely on his way home before completing a thorough search of the area, blasting anything that moved.
It wasn't hard to sell the shop, and it brought in enough money for a bus ride across the country. The landscape shifted gradually from forests and mountains to barren plains, and eventually back to mountains and forests. When Rick got off the bus and grabbed his bags, the sea air was different than what he'd left. Wilder, colder. Bigger.
He didn't go out to sea right away. His savings account was big enough to rent a small cottage overlooking the ocean – more of a shack, really, but he fixed it up into something liveable. He spent a larger chunk of money on a seaworthy boat.
And still he waited, keeping an eye on the news. There were no unexplained disappearances at sea, no monsters sighted... Maybe Craeg hadn't made it. Maybe he'd ended up somewhere else, closer to Asia or... or up in the landmass closer to the arctic circle. He'd probably never see the kraken again. Maybe it was for the best... but that meant he'd left everything behind for nothing.
Rick spent long nights staring out at the sea, which he was glad he could see from his window, because it was chilly and rainy here, always chilly and rainy. It made his joints ache, and getting up in the morning grew harder. His boat sat at the dock, and he tried to go out and keep it in good shape, but his visits became fewer and farther between. It grew harder to see all the way to the water, and harder to see signs of poor condition on the boat. He ignored all of this, assuring himself that he was tired from the move, that there was too much rain and fog to see anything anyway.
But Rick grew restless, watching the foggy water. When he was feeling up to it, he began to stock the boat for a journey. Plenty of nonperishable food. Warm clothes, sturdy boots, thick blankets. Rain gear. He bought maps, and would spend hours poring over them, plotting courses. Eventually he began to watch the weather report, with the sound turned up so high that once or twice his neighbors came over to knock on the door. He didn't hear them, so eventually they gave up.
At last, a sunny day came along one July. Rick woke up to find that the pain in his joints was tolerable. There was a storm forecasted for tomorrow. This had to be the day. He locked his door on his way out of the house, and dropped the key down a storm drain as he limped out to the dock.
It had been ages, and the boat had sat idle for too long, but after some grumbling it started up under his hand and he took it slowly out into the harbor, his hands remembering what to do, though he couldn't have put it in words. The waves rolled under the boat, and when they got into open water, Rick picked up speed, squinting at his map with faded green eyes. Just right. He bit into his tuna sandwich – with soft bread, which he'd have to use up before it went moldy – and kept on course.
In his younger days, Rick had always been completely alert. Now, it was hard to stare at the choppy waves with the rocking motion of the boat without closing his eyes, just for a moment.
When he opened them again, it was because he had crashed into the wall. The boat was careening to the side, getting knocked around by the waves. Rick scrambled to his feet, wiping blood from his lip onto his sleeve, and grabbed the wheel. The sky was dark now, and raindrops pelted the boat along with sea spray. He cursed and fought with the wheel, just trying to keep the boat steady. There was no land in sight, which was probably a good thing. In this weather, he'd just crash into it.
Hours later, the storm had let up enough to make Rick consider dropping the sea anchor. It had to be worth a shot. He was exhausted, and not sure how much longer he could stay at the wheel. Hobbling over to the winch, he let down the anchor. Something didn't feel right, though. Thinking it might be jammed, Rick banged on the lever.
"While the submarine is vastly superior to the boat in every way, over 97% of people still use boats for aquatic transportation."
Rick's head jerked up, and he limped out on deck. The kraken was there, holding his anchor.
“Didn't think I'd find ya,” the man wheezed, and coughed, gripping the rail.
“There was a 0.15% chance that you would come here,” Craeg murmured, his voice low and rough.
“Shows what you don't know, fish-face.”
Craeg cleared his throat, a few tentacles lashing, before reaching down and scooping the fisherman up in his vast, scarred hand. They regarded each other silently, the constant crash of waves and faint rattle of breath the only sound between them.
“Honey does not spoil,” the kraken whispered to himself.
“Yer a weird one. Glad ya got through the ice. Figured ya might freeze.”
“The kraken is -”
“...The best, strongest, smartest thing in the water? Maybe so.” Rick chuckled.
Craeg stopped short, then grinned toothily.
“So... ya like it here? Gonna stay?”
Pink eyes turned to the horizon. “...There is nowhere else.”
“Yeah, figured that. ...I got me a place to stay on the mainland. Don't reckon I'm headed back there, though.”
The kraken's dull eyes seemed to clear a bit as he focused on the man he held. “Human beings can survive under water... but not for very long.”
“I know it,” Rick responded quietly, looking back up at him.
“This... this is unacceptable.”
“I'm in worse shape'n my boat. Just... wanted to see ya again. Told ya I would. 'M not gonna make the trip back.”
“How... how dare you!” Craeg was trembling, tentacles lashing. “Bring your death to me!”
“Nobody else I'd wanna bring it to. ...You ever find any other krakens?”
“No,” Craeg snapped.
“Shame.”
“You also failed to find a partner.”
“Nah, never failed.”
“...Blowhard.”
“Okay, maybe a couple times. Just never worked out.”
“A shame.”
“Yeah.” Rick shrugged stiffly. “Just woulda held me back, anyway.”
Craeg gazed down at the shabby little boat, starting to list to one side as it slowly took on water. Rick was shivering, and beginning to slump down in his hand. Gently, he pressed the man close to his heart. Rick squirmed and said something, but the kraken wasn't listening. His tentacles grabbed the boat, pulling it apart bit by bit and dragging it down.
“Knew I could count on ya,” the man mumbled.
Through the night, sparse conversation was eventually replaced by a deep keening heard for miles around. The remains of the boat and the old man were never found. Few people searched.
Ships blown off course still returned now and then with tales of a massive creature, muttering incomprehensibly, clutching its chest as if wounded. More often, they vanished without a trace.