Chapter 8

Nimbus and Grum, Lucent Deep

Hunt

            “Screeeygroooonagh!” The wet air echoed with a howling rumble from Bonegorge’s gullet, as if to say, “You’ve arrived—get food.” Nimbus, Grum, and Thalarae woke with a start, covering their ears from the bellowing sound. They looked around and remembered they were inside the beast itself.

            “What time is it?” yawned Grum.

            “Dunno,” said Nimbus, stretching his legs and rising slowly.

            Thalarae poked her head out the door of the hut. “I think we’ve stopped.”

            Nimbus looked confused. “Stopped? Stopped what?”

            Thalarae shook her head. “Ugh—like movement. The beast—you know, it moves around? Swims?”

            Nimbus connected the dots. “Oh right. That’s what all the rocking was about last night. Uh—where?”

            Thalarae focused on the sub. “Probably some new hunting ground—feeding that egg when it hatches. Shh—one of them is coming.”

            Thud, thud, thud—thunk. One of the Huntbounds approached and set something against the hut.

            “Grum! Awake?” The Bound paused, then knocked hard. Grum sprang up. “Present!” he exclaimed, opening the door.

            “You hunt. Good spear. Don’t loose.” The Huntbound handed Grum a hefty spear nearly as tall as he was. Grum took it, grateful but nervous.

            “You learn—swimming,” the Bound said, turning away to gather supplies.

            Grum felt uneasy. Killing a creature felt too personal after the submarine hunts—yet he did enjoy the taste of a good meaty sandwich. He gripped the spear with mild confidence.

            The Gutfang was loaded and ready. Ribfin and another Huntbound, Graven Skorr, with a diagonal scar beneath his left eye, joined them. Thalarae closed the panel; Nimbus moved the sub toward the opening. Grum fumbled with peculiar dive equipment—putting on a glass dome, testing it, laughing at himself when it echoed. Ribfin gave Thalarae a canister of golden iridescent wax—to let wings work like flippers and stay dry.

            The Gutfang exited the beast, now stationary just off a small stony island. Through the front dome they saw a muddy landscape dotted with rocks and boulders forming a ridge. A large kelp patch loomed in the distance. The waves above were calm and transparent; morning sunlight danced on the ripples. Shadows moved on the ocean floor.

            Around them, sharks, rays, and octopi meandered through boulders—perfect morsels for a hungry newborn. In the mud Grum spotted small rays, octopi, several crabs, and a lobster.

            “Any Lumispar?” he asked.

            Thalarae shook her head. They were nowhere near the map’s cave. Nimbus moved the Gutfang farther from Bonegorge, maintaining depth and searching for a landing spot. Grum slipped on his dive helmet; Ribfin pressurized a small airlock at the sub’s rear.

            “You first—catch food,” Ribfin grunted. Graven Skorr prepared to dive as well. Grum climbed the slender bone ladder into the tube as water rushed in. The front hatch opened and Grum wiggled out.

            They had landed in a clearing between algae-covered rocks. Swarms of tiny, insectlike creatures drifted in clouds. A large shadow approached. Grum stared, then sighed in awe. A grey and pale-tan ray with aquamarine splotches glided overhead, trailing the tiny bugs.

            “Get food!” the other Bound urged.

            Grum spotted a wild cat-sized octopus and swam closer, spear poised. He cringed and tossed the spear. “Clang!” The octopus darted away; the Huntbound laughed. “Only a rock—rats!” Grum exclaimed—relieved. The ray passed again; Grum found a better target: a shark.

            Nimbus set traps while Thalarae netted fish. Grum steadied the spear. The shark closed. A sheet of fin surged from beneath him, powerful and nimble; the ray lifted Grum into motion. Clutching spear and fin, Grum felt the spear hit something thick and meaty—whump. He opened his eyes to see the shark impaled and the ray slowing, turning toward the sub. Graven Skorr’s jaw dropped.

            They spent the day hunting. Grum jousted sharks from his manta companion; the Bounds hauled in fish and an octopus. Traps took crabs, lobsters, and other bottom feeders. Thalarae netted smaller sharks. The submarine brimmed with meat. Grum dismounted the ray, waved, and climbed back into the Gutfang. The ray followed as they moved away.

            “Maybe he’s eating your snack dust,” Nimbus joked.

            Back in the Brineweld-and-bone city they shared stories and unloaded the catch. Thalarae sketched a leather saddle for Grum’s manta, a Brineweld craftsman actually made one, just in case. Nimbus laughed and chatted with the Bounds he had feared. A unification formed in the day’s work. The egg lay waiting. When it hatched, the offspring would need much flesh. Bonegorge returned to its nest. One last time.