Danain

Mr. Reumori was a man of incredible success. When faced with challenge, he always conquered, and he always brought home the treasure. When the old hermit-witch of the southern jungles foretold of his demise at the mercy of centaurs, he went off anyway and whipped them into shape. When the wyrms of the north crawled free of their icy prisons to devour him and his crew, he lashed their tongues. No one was as brave or as enduring as the great Huck Reumori. No, not a single one.

However, that wasn’t how Reumori thought of himself—those were merely the headlines in the papers and, while flattered, he believed the majority of it was rubbish. Because, you see, this man, this so-called Huck Reumori the Great Traveler, had a heart for nature. He was no colonizer of wild lands or hunter of pelts—he was a collector. And no one in all the land had as fine a menagerie as he. He thought this, as he awoke from his bed one brisk fall morning.

And he was correct, he lived to collect animals. But not just any animal, he collected only the most sublime, the most impressive, the most divine and, surely, the most scarce of all those beasts who exhibited ‘creatureness’ and femininity. Only females graced his exhibits in the Papularium by the sea, for they exuded—emphasized, in his mind—the beauty of living things. There was nothing more spectacular to behold than a monster as equally terrifying as majestic. Which was why, this day, he intended to sail off once again, far out into the sea.

Reumori’s bed was at the peak of the Papularium, so, after donning his clothes and shrugging on a heavy leather coat, the Collector gathered his luggage and descended the spiral staircase down to the glass exhibits. The entire structure (of which he had built from scratch on his own dime) resembled a diamond cut round, and the iron beams fastening the panels together, like a fine setting, had been gilded in polished copper. Only the lowest level had an outer ring of mahogany from the tiled floor to about six feet high, to ward off miserly outside observers.

Yes, indeed, few were as wealthy or as accomplished as the Collector. Reumori swept off the final landing and down the great open corridors, between the glass enclosures he had so tediously blueprinted years prior. Many had told him, when he was younger and less rugged, that such a thing could never be done: harboring all the world’s sentient and terrible beasts. A wild grin broke across his face as he passed the Maple Grove Exhibit, where he tipped his hat at the peeking nymphs. No one was laughing now.

Reumori rounded a bend, pausing at the Harpiary to wave at Yvesla and Peony. The two were anomalies even among their own kind—harpies with gentle faces and sharp feathers which glistened violet and cerise as they ruffled them in reply.

Further on, he nodded to Peparin and Fiona, the mermaids, in their tall aquarium. He blew a kiss to Seldona, the feisty succubus—she had been one of his fiercest catches, though her’s would prove simple compared to the adventure ahead of him that day.

Indeed, he was going all out this time. Centaurs and gidandros, harpies, wyrms or pigabillies, none would come close in fight or awe as his Big Fish: the tremendous and terrifying hydra. The exhibit for her was ready and, as he thought this, he came to the entry chamber where the vast enclosure sat prepared, though no living thing inhabited it. Reumori widened his eyes as he imagined the creature rearing her head high from the sunning rock, which he’d hewn from and hoisted out of the Papularium’s own black shore. There she would bare every silvery fang of her reptilian maw at shocked onlookers. The magnificence!

But though the hydra held such a place in his mind (he had dreamed of owning one since he was a boy, after all), there was only one entity in the entirety of the Papularium who could boast of having the Collector’s heart—and yet would not. Her name was Danain.

Danain was a special creature, indeed. Few have ever heard the name of her kind, though they once inhabited all of the world and there are tales of them. Many assume that the manifeston, which they are called, are peculiarly attractive does. Even the Collector, removing his gaze to the Green Meadows Exhibit, had difficulty making out the ginger-bay beauty from the herd of true does he had gathered to keep her company. She rarely grazed with her exhibit mates, preferring to pluck at berries alone in the thickets, so he was surprised to see her among them.

Reumori approached the glass to the Green Meadows, rapping lightly upon it. Petite Danain always watched her hooves—hooves that always gave her away in the end, as they were white rather than black, as on her cousin, the deer. Although, what truly set the manifeston apart from cousin deer was the ability to manifest as other creatures, even humans. But Danain had given up manifestation years ago. She pretended not to hear Reumori’s subtle taps and wandered away below the timberline.

Reumori watched the creature go with a sigh. She was his most prized possession, though he admired every one of his ‘papulli.’ But Danain acted such a lonely part. He had tried to find her a real companion with no success. She was as rare as true gold flowers—perhaps the very last of her kind.

“Mr. Reumori?”

The Collector turned on his heels. Across from the Green Meadows exhibit, standing a proud sixteen feet tall, the gold-gilded entryway doors sheltered a gaggle of dark-garbed seamen. Their captain, the veritable Captain Gregormaun, in his thick navy coat and cocked hat, motioned outside in the direction of the Me’Angliere.

“Seven o’ clock, as promised. The ship’s ready to sail,” the captain growled.

“Very good!” said Reumori.

A promising bluster struck them as they stepped free of the Papularium. It would be a fine day for seafaring, and even finer for the distance they would have to go. For, hydra were nearly as elusive as manifestons. They resided in black waters at the heart of oceans, only surfacing when their food items, the whales, ran low from over-whaling. Then, the magnificent serpents would rise from their deep abodes and snack upon men, instead.

The pier groaned below Reumori. He tapped Me’Angliere’s barreled side as he passed by and gawked briefly, as he always did, at the giant harpoons nestled there—the size of eight men set lengthwise, at least. A great monster required a great ship to capture it. The Me’Angliere, in which case, held no equal; her hull was lined in iron and her masts, along with the guns, were forged out of brass. But those were precautionary. Reumori’s favorite part of the sea hunt, since he couldn’t risk injuring his game, was the copper infused soft nets with chain intersections and weighted balls all folded up below the stern.

The Me’Angliere tipped lazily side to side. Reumori made his way across the deck to the cabins. Once he had settled and they were casting off, he visited the nets and dreamed of how the battle might unfurl.

The Collector traveled many days. There was fair weather for the first week, but afterward they came upon storm and lashing seas. The Me’Angliere, for all her strength, wobbled tremendously over the foaming waves, knocking even the captain from his feet. The crew scrambled to align the sails and mess with their ropes, but Reumori kept his eye on the depths.

For nearly a month they trailed a pod of white whales. It seemed the logical thing to do, though white whales were always a bit smaller than the elusive blues or barnacled. Something in Reumori’s heart told him that visibility was superior to size. At the end of that month, it seemed no hydra would fall for the Me’Angliere’s tricks. There was neither whirlpool nor odor upon the wind, so that Reumori became concerned.

Captain Gregormaun approached his contractor that day. The Collector was absentmindedly gazing out stern-side over the velvety waves of the sea.

“Our supplies are running low, Mr. Reumori, we shall have to sail back soon.”

Reumori seized the main rail.

“Now, Mr. Reumori—”

“Don’t ‘now’ me, Captain. I have never failed a hunt”—of course, that wasn’t true—“and I never will”—neither was that, as he had already failed several hunts beforehand, but Gregormaun knew there was no eluding the Collector’s pride once it had been roused. “Do you know why they call me the best, Captain Gregormaun? Because I am. Because there isn’t a beast on this damn planet who is as wily or as determined as Huck Reumori!”

“As sure as I am of that, we are still running low on supplies and there hasn’t been a tuft of stirring concerning your monster all this while. Just bear that in mind.”

The captain strode off, leaving the Collector to his wild fixation. As Reumori scrutinized the sea, his mind flew haplessly over everything he knew about hydras.

“We must simply be on the wrong trail,” he muttered to himself. Leaving the deck for favor of his cabin, he pored over his books again, as he had a hundred times in the last eight months. He had assured himself that this was the hour of his greatest accomplishment. Assured it. And Mr. Reumori never gave a word he couldn’t keep.

At the early noon hour, Reumori burst from his cabin. He held his journal tucked under an arm as he hurried to the captain’s cabin. Sweeping in to interrupt the captain’s lunch, he slammed his journal across the table where Gregormaun ate and pointed to a hastily scrawled passage within.

“Here!” Reumori cried. “We’re going about it all wrong! We shouldn’t be following the pod because where there is ample prey there are warier predators. We must rely on the desperation of a starved beast, of course!”

“Of course,” Gregormaun growled, rescuing his plate from the book’s cover.

“We must sail at once to mid-sea.”

“Mid-sea?” Gregormaun sputtered, standing. “You’re delirious, my man. The mid-sea is rife with danger—entire ships have capsized there. And with our small supplies, how do you expect us to survive?”

Reumori belted out a laugh. “Survive, Gregormaun? Have you forgotten why I hired you? You’re the best, that’s why. Come now, we’ve sailed together a dozen times—”

“But never to mid-sea. We simply don’t know what is out there.”

“Nonsense. You do the steering, Captain, and leave the knowing up to me. When have I ever failed us? I know what’s out there, and I intend to capture her. We are more than prepared for a struggle.”

“Be that as it may, there is more to my life than the sea and more than seafaring to the lives of my crew. We have families, most of us.” Gregormaun made to leave but Reumori held him.

“Wait! You are absolutely right. Family is of utmost importance. That is why I need you now. You know I don’t have family except for the wild and wonderful—imagine you had a daughter lost at sea. Wouldn’t you do everything in your power to find her? I swear by Eurynome, if you help me catch this serpent I will pay you and your families extra.”

Gregormaun stood, hands together in thought. He was a fine sailor; an even finer captain, who loved his wife and children and respected every member of his devoted and fine-trained crew, and was appropriately reverent of the sea. But, he was also quite shrewd. Deep in his bones, Gregormaun knew they could work out another couple weeks.

“I hear you Reumori; I know this is all that you live for. If I am to do it, however, I will require twenty percent of what is made.”

Reumori gave a vigorous nod. “Of course. She is sure to make a fierce first-quarter impression!”

Gregormaun shook his head. “No, I mean of every exhibition.”

“Of every—!” the Collector cut off. He twisted his hands together, considering the cost of laughing in Gregormaun’s face and returning home. At last, he relaxed. “Very well. You are about to become a very rich man, indeed. Of that, there is no question.”

“Excellent, I won’t fail for my part, but you should be prepared for the unknown ahead, as neither of us may make it back to see the reward.”

So the Me’Angliere turned her nose to the north, where only the unknown lay. Upon lashing waves, through rain and shine, that wonderful ship glided on the summer’s wind toward mid-sea. The waters grew dark the further they sailed. Then, suddenly, the winds broke. The Me’Angliere floated stilly over a placid ocean a whole day, her bow north-faced.

“It’s a curse from the gods,” whispered the crew. But Reumori ignored them. He spent his time pacing the main rails.

“Where is your serpent, Reumori? We haven’t gone a mile in a day—we may well be ruined here,” Gregormaun grunted. A very real terror lit the corners of his eyes.

The Collector acknowledged the captain. He did not share in the concern of the crew or their leader, for he had seen something none of them had: unfathomable depths. Not a whale in sight for several days.

“We must disguise the ship,” Reumori told the captain.

“You’ve lost your head.”

“Absolutely not. Do you want to return home? Follow my direction. We must take the spare sails and cast them into the ocean in the shape of a fish.”

Lost for words, Gregormaun knew not what to do but obey. So the whole of the ship worked together to throw out two sails that would look like fins, and a dragging sail off the stern with a crude structure of planks to separate the flukes. Sealed barrels kept the creation afloat.

Half a day passed. A calm northerly wind fluttered the Me’Angliere’s shrouds. The captain lowered the main mast sails to have her turn softly in circles. The great ship circled into a golden sunset, when the deep turned suddenly black.

Reumori squinted his eyes at a foamy disturbance over some waves.

“What is that?” asked the first mate.

“The waters are blacker than ever,” whispered the crew.

There was now a tension so thick over the deck that Reumori thought he could slice it with his hand. The bubbles on the water floated together and outward in tendrils—the result of a magnificent outpouring of air. The Collector gripped at the main rail, leaning over for a closer look. The darkness below was impenetrable, but then there was a flash. It was like the sun glistening off the water.

Reumori drew straight.

“Call the captain,” he said to the first mate. As the man jaunted away, he waved his arms.

“Lower the sails!” he cried. The crew looked about, confused. “Dolts,” Reumori, barked, “lower the sails at once if you know what’s good for you!”

Then came a terrific squabbling. All the sails came down, the captain burst from his cabin, and men tripped over one another to ready the harpoons and net.

“What in blazes is going on?” Gregormaun shouted at the Collector.

The water heaved. Before the captain could finish, a tremendous spray pelted portside of the main deck. A rush of air followed as the fat belly of some giant, gray-toned beast loomed overhead.

“Ho!” cried Gregormaun, when the beast contorted backward, striking the keel by some part of its body. The Me’Angliere shuddered but held firm.

With great crashing and swishing the creature landed back in the waves. The waters roiled and roared. Reumori flung himself to the rail, catching sight of the beast just before the foam of sea swept its silhouette away. A tail, with a pair of magnificent flukes, vanished into the blackness.

“A whale,” the Collector hissed. “A damn whale!”

The Me’Angliere jerked. Reumori caught himself in time not to be flung out to sea. He looked back at Gregormaun, who had been less fortunate, fallen nearly to his back but caught a shroud and hung on for dear life. Something struck aft.

“A whale?” the captain shouted. “What is it up to?”

Reumori didn’t know. It wasn’t like whales to breach so close to a ship, even were they to believe the ship to be a fellow cetus. Unless—he flung himself back around to stare into the swirling depths. His eyes trailed over to the deformed sailcloth fin, to watch a bubble of air pass beneath it. No, not air—the water rolled all at once, sucking the fin down. The waves cracked; the blackness broke free of its oceanic prison.

Reumori blew back by a freezing wave. The Me’Angliere heaved and the crew screamed. When the Collector looked up from being knocked to the deck, huge tendrils as wide as the ship's belly had raised into the air. These slick coils were laced in glittering seafoam-white spines and were themselves a hue so terrible that it ate the light of the sun.

“Monster!” someone cried.

Reumori jumped to his feet. “Steady now!” he screamed, but was plummeted forward before finishing. He tumbled like a ragdoll to the scuppers and, gasping, toppled overboard.

“Man the harpoons!” Gregormaun ordered. He’d found his feet and ran aft. The guns glittered contrarily against the black monster’s coils and stared with a fierceness by the point of their harpoons.

But Reumori hadn’t fallen. He swung just below the railing and managed to pull himself up.

“Cease and desist!” he shouted, though no one could hear him. The sailcloth fins had vanished, snapped up by the writhing and snapping of their veritable foe. Clambering over the rail, one of the coils descended, slamming against the portside and sending the Collector once again flying.

“Aim for the throat!” Gregormaun shrieked.

But the gunners couldn’t find it, for the hydra was submerging and surfacing from every direction, wrestling with its wooden prey. The sea waters became a bubbling brew of energy, slashing against the hull and drowning the decks. The Me’Angliere could but just keep her balance.

At last, Reumori got hold of a stay and steadied himself. He made his way to the quarter deck.

“The nets! The nets!” Reumori cried, again and again until the first mate spotted him. Gregormaun turned in time to see the Collector hobbling onto the sterncastle—there was a wild look to the captain.

“You’re a fool!” the captain shouted.

Just then, a slender coil rose above the rest. It tapered as it emerged until at last a great pointed head reared. The face of the hydra was more spectacular than Reumori could have imagined. The orbital bones stuck out fast and sharp, tipped by pointed scutes. When the monster had steadied herself, she cast with her shock of lavender eyes the feeble men before her a paralyzing glower.

The gun began to raise. Reumori exchanged a look between the captain and his dream. He couldn’t allow some panicked coward theft of such perfect vision. He shoved Gregormaun.

The captain danced away on the deck’s slime; Reumori bolted up the harpoon gun’s mount.

“Don’t fire!” he screamed. “Man the bait cannons and ready the nest for expulsion!”

Confused and surprised to see the Collector back from the grave, many of the men abandoned the gun; perhaps from their own cowardice, as well, for the hydra was now baring her teeth and scanning the ship from stern to bow. One of her tendrils crept over the main deck, crushing the rail with snaps and quakes.

“Don’t head that way! Man the harpoons!” Gregormaun shouted. But the first mate had already rallied a third of the crew to the cannons while another third struggled to obey their captain against the obstructing actions of the Collector. The final third stood in petrified shock, staring up into the maw of that terrible sea serpent of legend and praying their last prayers.

After twisting the ropes and redirecting the harpoon, Reumori leaped off the gun to tell the first mate to release the bait. A heavy hand cuffed him across the face.

“Fool!” shouted Gregormaun.

Reumori swung into a crate. He caught its edge and stood. Another cuff to the face.

“You’ve killed us!” Gregormaun roared. The Me’Angliere lurched backward. The bowsprit raised to the sky and the shouts from the crew reached a terrible crescendo. But Gregormaun went toppling down, somersaulting toward the mizzenmast. Reumori fled to the poop deck where the bait cannons stood. At the top, an explosion pounded his ears.

A dark object flew into the waters and the Me’Angliere rocked straight. The hydra slapped her snout against the mast yard as she turned to look. She could hear—that impressed Reumori.

“Again! Shoot again!” the Collector instructed. With another boom, a second bundle of bait flew out over the thrashing sea, exploding into a red pool some distance off.

The hydra slackened her grip on the ship and stretched out, high over their heads, to investigate the drops. Reumori held his chest. It could work! If but—and he ran to see where the captain had gone. They had undone his foiling at the harpoon guns and directed the points at a fixed coil.

Reumori grabbed a fleeing sailor. “Where is the first mate?” he growled.

“Below deck, sir! He’s trying to sail!”

Sure enough, the first mate had just missed him and turned to the helm in an effort to spare them.

“She’s gone after the bait,” Reumori told the man. “Keep them firing and ready the damn net!”

“We should flee, sir,” the first mate tried to say, but Reumori didn’t listen. He reached into his boot to procure Hantil, his old hunting knife. Then he returned to the sterncastle in time to see the harpoon go off. The gun rebounded mightily, and the hooked spear whistled into the hydra’s spines. Reumori froze. For a moment, everyone upon the deck waited, but the coil only tightened. The spear missed and glittered beyond.

When the Collector arrived at the portside gun once again, the main deck groaned. Its groan shuddered throughout the Me’Angliere, arresting the attention of the harpoon crew. Reumori jumped at the opportunity. He flung himself onto the harpoon gun. The gunner spotted him and tried to grab at his ankles, but he hoisted himself wholly atop the weapon and began sawing at the metallic wire.

“Cease trying kill us!” Gregormaun yelled. The sailors surrounded the gun, reaching for Reumori and tearing at his trousers.

“See reason!” Reumori retorted. Someone got a good hold and jerked him down. The movement forced the Collector’s hand down, so that Hantil’s hilt wedged in a ridge of the gun’s steel frame, with Reumori’s thumb betwixt them.

Many men gripped his clothes and yanked. The Collector cried out. Somehow, the knife lodged under the wire, so that with a final tug the men ripped Reumori off the gun and the wire displaced, twining harmlessly over the harpoon. Another explosion sounded.

“She’s after the bait,” the Collector said, sparring the hands of his assailants. Gregormaun’s austere mug appeared between the rest.

“I don’t care!” he shouted.

The ship tossed. The sailors caught themselves and looked about fearfully. The hydra was no where to be seen.

“I won’t let you stop me,” Reumori growled, shoving the men before him. The sailors tried to impede him but Reumori, well, it must have been out of his significant determination that he avoided them all. Ducking, punching, and, yes, at times biting, he slipped along past the abandoned helm. Above, upon the poop deck, Reumori was met with an amazing scene.

The hydra was thrashing aft in the waters and beyond, struggling with something, it seemed, more than bait. The first mate met him and helped him up to see.

“I’m going to lead the ship away, you do what you must,” the man said.

Reumori sprinted to the net cannon. To his relief, it had been prepared, though no one tended it now. A veil of smoke burned the air, obstructing sight. He launched himself upon the cannon to see far ahead. There, his gaze met the serpent’s. And lo, in her maw was both bait and a big fish-like creature that she held by the head. The hydra’s lavender eyes pierced into Reumori’s. They seemed, almost, to challenge him.

The Collector dropped to the cannon’s side. He knew the net was ninety-five feet long and wide—it would expand in the air. They were a little farther than a hundred feet, but her waving body, flailing and chaotic, could catch it. There was no choice in his mind but to try.

The net cannon swiveled slowly, with ease. As Reumori tilted it back he saw the hydra again. Her terrible face, scaled and spiked, dropped the bait. The light glistened off her snout, turning, subtly, as her eyes focused on the cannon. Taken aback, Reumori only stared. The hydra snorted. Then, her jaws stretched apart, revealing great starlight fangs, and her whole forelength twisted up out of the water into a coil. Reumori fumbled for the match.

She sprung! The great head bolted for the stern. The waters broke apart at her belly as if by duty and she skimmed perilously toward the ship. Reumori smashed the match against the cannon, again and again, until he thought he heard a fizz and so shoved it into the touch hole.

BOOM. The air shook. The Me’Angliere lurched, knocking every sailor atop her decks to their backsides. Even Reumori went flying from the net cannon across the poop deck, over the railing and down to the helm into a mess of rope. Guttural hissing blew down over the ship, followed by the crack of snapping planks.

Gregormaun helped the dazed Collector to his feet. Wood splinters flew all about and the crew withdrew to the sterncastle deck.

“Aye, are you all right?” the captain shouted above the din. “Get yourself away. I’m going to drive this girl out of the monster’s jaws, if I can!” He then threw Reumori to the stairs.

But the Collector shook his fog away and went around to see what had happened. The hydra’s gigantic nostrils were what met him. Having destroyed the poop deck, the serpent, entwined beneath the net’s chains, gnawed at the wood. The Me’Angliere turned sharply. The hydra growled. A sound too sweet to have come from the throat of a beast, Reumori thought. She growled a second time and released her hold.

Many of the hydra’s coils writhed free of the net but, when she tried to dive, her spines caught between the chains and she thrashed, entwining within the net further. She tugged at her snare; by extension the ship; but she could not free herself. The more she tried, the more she tangled herself in the web.

Reumori ran a hand down his face, staring wide-eyed. As planned, though not how he planned, he had somehow done it. He had caught the hydra.