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THE SONG OF UULLIOLL

Gray Rinehart



Whales and porpoises have demonstrated high intelligence, nearly human level according to some researchers. It might be that they are as curious about us as we are about them. And youngsters are known for taking chances . . . 


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Uullioll cruised the dark deep, alone and brooding. He was full, yet he still filtered tasteless morsels from the salty-wet. He thought of diving down to the hard below where the wide crabs walked, but he had watched them so often that they no longer amused him. From below and behind him came the high-pitched, tuneless song of two youngsters chasing each other. Uullioll had been that carefree once, migrations gone by.

Their feeding time was almost over, but the pod wasn’t ready to move yet. Osheeoroth would wait until this cycle of the puller above was complete before he sang them to head to the warm stills. And it would be the same as ever, their lives an endless migration.

Frustration rumbled through him, a note too low even for him to hear, and spurred him up and up and through the barrier into the cold dry-clear. The bright hot was unfortunately away, and Uullioll missed its clean warmth. The puller above was a cold, half-closed eye, its light reflecting off the salty-wet and the icy rocks floating in it. For an instant and an eon Uullioll hung there, savoring the dry-clear and releasing his tension with a blast. Then he splashed back through the barrier and into the salty-wet, where he let himself float, waiting, dutifully waiting.


The bright hot was high in the dry-clear when Uullioll surfaced a fin’s length away from the hard fish. Most of the pod was ahead, intent on their trek to the warm stills, but Uullioll often left the pod to investigate these hard fish—small ones and huge ones, noisy creatures that never dove, and big dark silent ones that dove and sometimes sang tuneless, one-note songs. This one was about twice as long as he was, and smacked the barrier with a hollow sound as it rode along on top.

Uullioll spouted into the dry-clear. A pod of upright crabs chirped from where they stood upon the hard fish’s back.

The bright hot felt good on his back as he glided back into the salty-wet. Uullioll waved his tail flukes in the dry-clear, and dove deep. The chirps of the upright crabs became thumps that rang through the salty-wet from the skin of the hard fish and faded into the pulsing beat of its tail.

Uullioll had loved the bright hot as long as he could remember. Once, when he was very young and craved the bright hot’s warmth, he had swum in its direction as it moved behind the edge of the salty-wet, but he tired quickly and failed to catch it. On the next migration, when he had grown stronger and faster, after he had eaten his fill he tried again—but the bright hot still outraced him.

Uullioll sang a brief song, a song of his joy at the feel of the bright hot on his back, as he swam into the dark below.

Aaheereeosh, older by two seasons but still small for his age, came alongside him and sang, “That song is madness, Uullioll.”

Uullioll did a slow turn through the cool dark. He marked how far the hard fish had moved and his course back to it. “Why?”

“The bright hot will burn you.”

“No, Aaheereeosh, it is pleasant. It brightens all, no matter where we are in our migrations. It brightens above the icy cold where we eat, where the big crabs crawl on the hard below. And it brightens above the warm stills where the girls become mothers. I like the bright hot. It floats above the dry-clear we breathe, how can you not like it?”

“I think the bright hot has already burned your brain, Uullioll.”

“If so, then I hope it consumes me completely,” Uullioll sang as he sped away toward the hard fish. It kept its uncommonly straight course, churning the salty-wet with its toothy tail, and Uullioll pushed himself faster until he breached the barrier and sailed into the dry-clear.

Out of his right eye he saw the upright crabs lining the side of the hard fish. As he cleared the salty-wet and breathed deep, they flapped their claws together and tried to sing out of their mouths, but their song was faint noise to him. He rolled a little and watched the bright hot as he hit the barrier and the salty-wet closed over him again.


The puller above began to brighten again, and the pod moved farther toward the warm stills. Uullioll and Aaheereeosh swam together about thirty lengths of an adult from the triple barrier where the hard below rose from the salty-wet into the dry-clear. A group of the upright crabs moved around on the hard below near the edge of the salty-wet; some scuttled about in the waves, and a few came in the wet and floated on thin reeds or tried to swim with awkward splashes of their claws.

“The bright hot above must favor them,” Uullioll sang. “They get to live in its light all the time.”

“Are you still swimming in that direction? You’re feeding on hot wet, empty wet.”

Uullioll did not care what Aaheereeosh thought. His friend had never understood Uullioll’s lust for the bright hot’s warmth, but he was still a good friend. After Uullioll’s attempts to catch the bright hot failed, last migration he had tried another approach: he knew that when the bright hot fell below the edge of the world it always came back from the other direction, so he swam into a cut in the triple barrier, into wet that was no longer salty, looking for the route to the bright hot. The wet there tasted funny and Uullioll met many hard fish with the funny upright crabs on them, but he did not find the bright hot’s home. Aaheereeosh had been waiting for him when he swam back into the salty-wet.

Now, Uullioll rolled enough to splash Aaheereeosh with his fin. “Have you forgotten the old stories? Our people used to live in the dry-clear, just like those upright crabs do, before we came into the salty-wet.”

“My mother told me that one. It’s just a story for long swims. So what?”

“But look at them. They live in the same dry-clear we breathe, but they come in the salty-wet.”

“So what?”

“If they can come into the wet, why can’t we go back into the dry?”

“Because we are where we belong,” Aaheereeosh sang. “You’re still young, Uullioll. When you’re my age, you’ll understand.”

Uullioll sang a discordant note. “All you understand is how badly you want to get to the warm stills so you can mate.”

Aaheereeosh did not deny it, he just dove under and left Uullioll on the surface to watch and wonder as he swam.


Uullioll cruised along the dark depths, swimming first above and then below the distinction between the warm wet and the colder wet. Osheeoroth’s song sounded a little different above the distinction than below it, just as the salty-wet felt different above than below. Uullioll wondered about it, as he wondered about so many things.

Soon Uullioll tired of listening to Osheeoroth’s song as it echoed and was repeated by other adults—so similar to last migration’s song, always the same theme of moving and spawning. Uullioll had had enough of the pod, of Osheeoroth and his insistent goading, of Aaheereeosh and his derision. He swam upward to see the bright hot on the edge of the salty-wet, its color deep and its heat much less intense.

Uullioll still loved the bright hot and hungered for its warmth. But this migration he would not chase it. He would wait for it. And here, partway between the cold feeding wets and the warm mating wets, would be a fine place to wait. He would find a place where he could rest and let the bright hot come to him. The pod could go on without him.

The puller above felt especially potent as the bright hot deepened and dove. Uullioll turned toward the triple barrier and swam, hard, fast, faster. The salty-wet frothed around him, and when it lifted him a little he felt the weightless exhilaration he did when he breached. He pushed harder, riding the salty-wet until it deposited him on the hard below, above the triple barrier.

The hard below, was both. Uullioll settled into it; he wriggled a little, the way some of the burrowing fish did. It was rough on his skin, but not unpleasant.

The dry-clear was cool, and moved against his right side. It chilled him, and he closed his eye on that side. A shiver moved along his skin; deep inside he was warm enough, and the bright hot would come and warm him soon.

The salty-wet rose behind him and touched his tail, then receded again. He felt the pulses through the hard below, matched them to odd, moving sounds.

A monotone song bit his attention. It was an irritating noise, and Uullioll was grateful when one of the upright crabs moved quickly away to his left and took the sound with it.

He sighed, contented, and closed his other eye to await the coming of the bright hot.


The salty-wet receded behind Uullioll and left him on the rapidly drying hard below. He could still hear and feel the rhythmic pulsing below and behind him—less intense, but a constant reassurance like his mother’s heartbeat from so many migrations ago.

Chittering noises overlaid the wet rhythm, and Uullioll opened his eyes. The puller above was still bright, though it had moved a little toward his tail. Several of the upright crabs were gathering around him, scuttling here and there and waving their claws. Some held cold little brights, and Uullioll blinked as one shone right in his eye. A small, different kind of crab, one on little low legs, jumped and scurried about with frequent, annoying shrieks. Not a singer, that one, but the way it moved fascinated him.

Uullioll tried to stand like the little low crab, but his fins were too weak. He wondered how long it would take to strengthen them. He sighed and settled back down to the hard below. It was difficult to breathe deep.

The noises from the upright crabs pulsated in crazy, rhythmless tones. Pitch and intensity rose and fell, more voices and fewer and more again. They kept a respectable distance, at least a head’s length away, but more and more of them gathered as the puller above moved out of his field of vision. Uullioll wondered if they were dangerous and decided they weren’t: their little claws and tiny mouths were no threat.

Gradually the upright crabs dispersed until only a few were left. These hunkered down to the hard below, alone or in groups of two or three, watching Uullioll with their forward-facing eyes. What did they expect him to do? At least they were quieter now, and once again he could hear and feel the rhythms of the salty-wet.

He lifted his tail and let it fall with the salty-wet rhythm. He closed his eyes again and thought of how to greet the bright hot.


A shudder rippled through him and he came wide awake as one of the upright crabs touched his flank. There were more of them around him again, and closer than before, and for a moment Uullioll was afraid. But he had been right: their claws did no damage. Instead they flung wet skins across his back. They were heavy and smooth, not gritty like the hard below, and the upright crabs splashed Uullioll with the salty-wet. It felt good.

Other upright crabs burrowed into the hard below all around him. They built a reef around him and filled it with salty-wet.

It felt right somehow that these upright crabs should minister to him so. That they should welcome him up from the salty deeps and honor his pursuit of the bright hot. He was grateful that they would share the bright hot with him.

He marked the rhythms as the salty-wet crept closer again and above lightened with the coming of the bright hot. With a mighty convulsion, Uullioll twisted so he could see the bright hot’s round eye crest over the hard below. He flicked his tail in the salty-wet and sang a hymn to the bright hot, of joy at its coming and thanks for its servants the upright crabs, a hymn that matched the rhythms of the salty-wet as it pounded against the hard below.

But Uullioll’s voice didn’t sound the same in the dry-clear. It sounded hollow. He could barely hear it, and knew it wouldn’t carry to the bright hot. His joyful song of warmth and light and solidity below him turned into a mournful tune of disappointment, shame, and lonely grief.

And yet the bright hot still favored Uullioll with warmth. Uullioll closed his eyes against the growing brightness and concentrated on the warmth seeping into his skin. He sang again his song of joy, but only in his mind.

The upright crabs continued to splash salty-wet on him, and Uullioll wished Aaheereeosh were with him to see how they served him. Whose song is madness now?

As the bright hot coursed above him, Uullioll marked many changes in the noises around him. Upright crabs came and went, and big noisy snails that moved on round legs, and birds that hung motionless in the dry-clear above. The pulsings behind him could only be several hard fish, floating on the salty-wet.

The first tentacle around his flukes caught Uullioll by surprise.

He thrashed his tail, afraid of the danger he couldn’t see. His mother had warned him about tentacle-bearers, some bigger than three of him, in the cold, dark deeps. Then a second tentacle, and a third, looped around his tail.

“Help me,” Uullioll sang. His voice sounded empty as the dry-clear.

Some of the upright crabs must have heard, because they gathered around him and laid their claws on him. He relaxed, and sang silent thanks to the bright hot, until he felt the pull from behind—and the upright crabs began to push him backward.

Uullioll was stunned. What had he done wrong? Why would they not save him?

“No, help me,” he sang again. “Don’t take me away from the bright hot. I want to rest on the hard below, I want to feel the dry-clear on my skin.” He thrashed against the tentacles’ pull, but gained only an eye’s width for every fin’s length he lost.

The salty-wet came up around him, buoyed him, and the treacherous upright crabs screeched to each other. They pulled the wet skins from him and pushed at him, and Uullioll almost wished they would flay him with their tender claws. Selfish crabs, to keep the bright hot and the hard below to themselves and feed him to the tentacle-bearer.

Then the tentacles fell away from his tail and Uullioll turned to see three hard fish, trailing tentacles behind their churning tails. Tall crabs on the hard fish waved their claws and screeched, and the upright crabs standing near him in the salty-wet did likewise. One of the upright crabs scurried out of the wet and grabbed another with its claws, and the strange, short crab leapt around them and yelped.

Even though he could not understand it—even though it was discord to him—the crabs’ song sounded triumphant.

They sing to one another, but not to me? They force me out of the bright hot’s grace, back into the salty-wet, and they gloat?

Uullioll blasted his frustration and the upright crabs screeched even louder, mocking the depth of his rejection. He swam in a circle and approached the triple barrier, but a line of crabs blocked his way and one of the hard fish sped toward him. He turned again and sang his anger into the salty-wet.

And a voice answered him.

Uullioll stopped. He floated there, listening. It was hard to make out the voice in the cacophony around him.

Uullioll swam away from the triple barrier, away from the feckless upright crabs, and sang again his desperate rage. The voice answered again, and it was not one voice but a dozen. He heard Aaheereeosh, and even Osheeoroth, and it was not the song to pull the pod to the warm stills but a new, different song. A song to welcome Uullioll back into the salty-wet. To welcome him home.

Uullioll rolled and let the bright hot warm his side, his stomach, his other side, then floated again with the warmth seeping into his back.

The pod beckoned from the deeps. The bright hot beckoned from above. Uullioll dove below the barrier but stayed in the shadowy shallows. There was only one place he would be welcomed; did that mean there was only one place where he belonged?


Uullioll cruised the dark deep, alone and thinking.

He was full, yet still he filtered tasteless morsels from the salty-wet. Above him, above the barrier, the puller was an open eye again. It was almost time.

From below and behind him came the high-pitched, tuneless song of his spawn as it chased after its mother. Uullioll had been that carefree once, long before Osheeoroth died. So many migrations gone by, and now Aaheereeosh was also dead and the pod looked to him for guidance.

Uullioll swam up to the barrier but did not breach. The dry-clear was cold, and he floated on the surface under the pale glow of the puller above. A few lengths away, one of the big icy rocks floated; it shone in the puller’s light. As Uullioll watched, a bit of it sheared off: unbalanced, the remainder spun and writhed in the salty-wet. It flung itself about, split off pieces that floated away in all directions.

One, then another of the small icy rocks touched Uullioll’s side. What was left of the big cold rock slowed and settled until it floated very near to where it began. Uullioll heard himself in its thrashing: motion without progress, frantic action that only served to diminish it.

Uullioll spouted a sigh. There must be more to these migrations, somewhere, and he despaired that he had never found it. But now he had responsibilities; now it was time to head to the warm stills, to let the girls become mothers of new generations that might pursue and finally catch the bright hot.

Uullioll filled his lungs with dry-clear. And he sang.




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