At the Sharp End of Lightning: Oceanlight, #1

By NR Bates

The intertwined worlds of Oceanlight and Earth are no longer hidden from view of each other. In one realm, Yalara Narika, a winged Sea Sprite, searches for her family and she encounters a deadly blue haze at sea. Escaping the poison makes her realize that her world, Oceanlight, is experiencing sudden and catastrophic environmental change. Meanwhile, in the safe suburban normality of North Wales, Einion Morgan Alban, a restless youth with haemophilia, is nearly murdered by a man in a white suit who intentionally shoves him off a cliff. If Yalara and Einion don’t uncover the connections between their worlds and near-deaths, it’ will have dire consequences for the worlds they live in.  

• Language: English
• Publisher: NR Bates
• Release date: Feb 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9780993190513

NR Bates

I am fortunate to share my life with my wife, and seven cats and one dog. British by birth, and Canadian by naturalization, I alternate between the UK, Canada and islands in the mid-Atlantic. I am an oceanographer by training, and my scientific research has focused on understanding the biological, chemical and physical processes that control carbon dioxide in the ocean and ocean acidification. I have published over one hundred and twenty scientific papers and contributed to policy documents including the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) assessments. 

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CHAPTER 1

The Search Above the Waves

In Oceanlight

As the streamer of lightning harmlessly discharged through her body into the palm of her hand, Yalara Narika noticed many things at once. There was fright and surprise as adrenaline raced through her body. The words I’m alive came to mind, accompanied by an overwhelming relief when the forked sharpness passed out of her. Then came the reflex response—her call to Calymene, Mother Earth—that she had despite her doubt. A hurried glance brought the reassuring thought I’m still in the sky. Simultaneously, she returned to her search—for the lost—which was set against the immensity of the seas. And interwoven amongst these reactions were thoughts of that moment in the distant future, at the end of her life, when she’d fly up into the tumult, clad in a cuprous woven fabric, and upon the flash of electrica, her constituent parts would disassemble in an instantaneous coruscation of energy.

The strike had jolted her from her reverie. Before the discharge, Yalara had been in a state of attentive contemplation as she grasped the braided sinews of the harness, and the wind blew strongly in her face, across her ears, and through her unbound hair. She had been oblivious to everything but the act of flying and each frame of time. A few seconds after the electrica came through her, she reached out to stroke the soft feathers on the head of Varaku, the petrel she rode upon, checking to make sure he was unharmed. He was fine, and he cawed at her in relief: that was not pleasant.

It was not the first time they had been struck by lightning, and she laughed softly, in empathy with his relief. Even though she had directed them around the periphery of the thunderstorm, a horizontal filament of lightning—a fulmen—had strayed into the clear air they flew in. It surprised her that the electrica had reached so far towards her from the upheaval of cloud, but then, Yalara was a lightning attractor. Many years before, her earliest experience of this phenomenon had occurred when she was flying alone, as a young Sprite, and the flash of lightning had discharged itself without pain or harm into the palm of her hand, leaving only the trace of bruising deep within. Yalara recollected that first occurrence and how she had fallen out of the air, stunned, and found herself lying on top of the verdant, fully leafed—and soft—canopy of a fortuitous tree beneath her. It happened again, and afterwards, with youthful impetuousness, she had sought out the seductive experience for a couple of years, and the electrica had sought her out on occasion. The clash of the clouds excited her being, and for a time, she had longed for its release—where was that longing now?

Yalara’s reverie returned, and she flew onwards in a mindful state. She knew that her face would be expressionless, betraying no emotion. But within, she felt the exhilaration of the moment, the sharpness of all her senses being drawn inside in a continual flow of sensation. She had no past, no future, and no mission—all were subsumed in the experience of the moment.

Unbidden thoughts intruded and interrupted, and the continuity of the moment subsided. The foreboding nature and seriousness of her mission had emerged from the deeper recesses of her mind. The rapid beating of her heart slowed, as did the pace of her breath. Her sense of time quickened perceptibly. She scrutinized the far-reaching seas that stretched out below—the comforting embrace and security of that expanse of her world, Oceanlight. She had a past and a future again.

An insistent memory of a wise voice intruded on her blissful flight. You must find the disappeared!

I will, I promise, Yalara had said.

Yalara had sensed the deeply concealed anxiety in the directive, and it reinforced her deliberate search for kin. I do have my own purpose, she admitted to herself. She was searching for someone she loved—or at least could love.

That concern layered itself amidst the recent flush of rumour and disquiet—among the astute few—that the seas were changing. Yalara recollected a confidence she had shared with a wiser Sprite: "It’s almost imperceptible how the stirrings of the atmosphere, the waftings of the sea’s breath, and chemiae of the water have altered."

They have altered nonetheless. But these are hints that most are unaware of, came the sure response.

Yalara considered herself for a brief period, staring at her hands, which had an unwavering surety of grip upon the harness and petrel. I am Yalara of the Narika. Her sea tribe, the tribamare as some called it, was known as the Narika—her clan of Sea Sprites. Yalara had other, less frequently used, formal names that reflected her lineage and her allegiances, such as Yalara ex Teniaka. She did not bear the name of her birth mother, a Sprite of mystery, who had died without giving her a name. It had initially marked Yalara as different, as a youngling, but it had been many years since anyone had mentioned her opaque origins.

She took a deep breath of the salty air, held the inrush for an extended time, and then exhaled with a sigh, while stretching her limbs against the natural synergy of motion between Sprite and bird—between Rider and petrel. She knew that he had sensed her incongruous and discordant movement. He uttered a quiet caw. In response, she eased her charge directly into the wind and held her head and body tightly against the feathers of the bird. Together, they flew downwards and then low, just above the waves, where a fine mist of sea spray hit the Sprite’s face. Yalara knew the bird also sought out that feeling of motion and life. Banking upwards in a buffeted arc and turning to catch the tack against the wind again, Yalara and her petrel caught the strong uplift above the boundary layer and then continued onwards towards the waning sun.

Almost instinctively, Yalara stroked the soft feathers of the bird’s dark head. It was a sign of their bond, and she whispered, Well done, holding her head close to his ear. Rider and petrel eased through the momentary periods of relatively slack air and then adjusted to the buffeting and turbulence of the eddied uplift, deflected from the waves beneath. It was a style of flight that they had perfected with experience gained from their years of training together. It was the most efficient mode of flight and designed to keep them aloft for many hours—a blend of occasional wing beats, wave uplift and slope gliding from higher altitude gained from thermal uplifts. Yalara tucked her own wings tightly against her back to streamline their profile against the wind.

She mused further. Yalara also had the ability to release herself and her bird from the full effects of their gravity—gravitas as she called it, the pull of all things towards the earth. Within each Rider’s mind lay this gift. It only had to be found and examined, and then with training and refinement, it added to the capability of a pair of Sprite and petrel to stay aloft. As a Sprite youngling, having listened to the stories passed from generation to generation, she’d aimed to one day emulate the feat of flying from western to eastern shorelines across the Great Seas. That was before the sundering of the tribes of sea and land Sprites and the danger that now faced sea Sprites who came close to land. In old stories, Omnifugas, a Sprite of great strength and endurance, had flown with her petrel from West to East and then turned around to return to the West. She had attempted and succeeded in her feat because no one had done it before.

Yalara laughed at herself. As a petulant youngling, she had stamped her foot more than once, declaring, "I don’t care what you say. I will do the same." Releasing from gravitas would aid her now—with her pressing purpose.

The ever-present variety of the seas and air above never ceased to enthrall Yalara. She and her petrel had just passed through the edge of a front of isolated thunderstorms. She and Varaku headed for calmer winds and seas, with the beaded remnants of raindrops detaching themselves from bird feathers and Sprite clothing alike. The seas beneath them had changed from the state of confusion brought by the tempest, when the wind, waves, and swell were juxtaposed at different angles to each other. The tempestas, as Yalara had learned when she was a youngling, were tumults in the air that remained a joy to tame even after many years at sea, even those without lightning or fulmen.

The recently passed storm had brought these memories to the surface. In her early lessons, Yalara had been most attentive to the understanding of the subtleties of changing patterns of sea and air, rather than the lessons about technica or chemiae of her life at sea. If she admitted the truth, she was skilled at observation of many kinds, and she had long mastered the complexities of her life upon the expanse of gray seas and the air above it. She had long ago tamed her fear of the tempestas—now she simply embraced the nature of them.

First, as you wait patiently, comes the building apprehension of the approaching tempestas then the intense awe and fright as you enter the gut-wrenching to-and-fro of the tumult, eyes closed to shield yourself from the overwhelming coruscation of the clashing clouds and the deafening crack of following thunder. You overcome the yawing of the air, tame the violent updrafts and downbursts of strong wind, and become an integral part of the swirling melee of wind and moisture. And then comes the elation and relief, when you finally exit and find yourself on the outside of the tempestas, in the relatively slack and redolent air. There’s nothing quite like it, Yalara said aloud, sated from the intensity of her recent experience.

It’s a gift, her mentor had often uttered to the leaders of their clan.

It will make up for some of her failings, others had said in whispered exasperation.

A loud yell filled her ears over the turbulent flow of the wind. She was startled and immediately left her deep state of contemplation.

She turned her head sufficiently to see her companion, Rasania, another Sprite of the Sea, astride a paired petrel, calling to her. Yalara, wait up, Rasania called again, with a louder insistence.

They were flying close behind and tucked in Yalara’s slipstream, using the glide-wing-beat pattern that maximized the efficiency of their flight. The following beak was almost touching the tail feathers of Yalara’s own petrel. Yalara had almost forgotten her companion, so intent was she on the pattern and purpose of her flight. Rasania had given the tempestas a wide birth and now had caught up with her.

We can’t fly for much longer, Rasania called to her companion. "We’ll have to rest soon; Sanaka is getting tired, came soon afterwards in a yell, reinforced by a raised hand. When Yalara gave a non-committal response, Rasania followed with an annoyed, Yalara, I’m hungry, and I’m getting tired, too. We need to rest."

Yalara slowed her bird and nodded at her companion. Her nestmate’s ability to release from gravity was still a work in progress—it took years to perfect. Rasania and her bird flew up beside Yalara, with the petrel’s black tips and white core of the underwings contrasting against the dark gray of the sea beneath. The wing tips of both petrels almost touched as they beat repetitively. Sanaka turned his head slightly towards Yalara in a reinforcement of his Rider’s urging, his black eye shining brightly, and a long cry emitted from his notched beak, followed by the harsh but characteristic chah-chah-chah-chah call. Sanaka had been a difficult yearling—matching the temperament of his Rider—and he still didn’t hesitate to express his opinion or needs—loudly, if warranted. They were petrels to their Sprites but Skua to other bird species. Yalara smiled brightly at both of them. She had taught them as younglings, coaching Rasania about the patterns of the ocean and teaching Sprite and petrel together about the patterns of flight.

Yes. I’m hungry too, she replied. We’ll need to find a settling place soon, before it gets dark. Let’s lift up away from the waves, and we’ll be able to search the horizon better. Yalara only needed to gently tug at the harness as her bird had pre-empted her command. Upwards they went. She smiled back at her companion and shook her head slightly as Rasania emitted an unrestrained whoop of glee. Together, the pair of Riders and their petrels flew quickly higher into the atmosphere, catching some of the warm rising air masses for uplift in order to reduce their effort, with Sanaka close at the wing of his bird companion. They circled for some time, not seeing a suitable site at first—just some small golden patches beneath them, set in a grayish sea.

When they’d passed through the trailing veil of rain adjacent to one of the tempestas sometime before, Rasania had been asleep with her hands tightly clenching the harness of her bird. After they’d exited the cascade of rainwater and flown out into the smir, the drizzle held in the air, Rasania screamed above the flow of the wind, You did that on purpose, I wasn’t asleep. Her eyes were wide, and her face flushed red and taut with momentary anger. Yalara almost laughed aloud. She had avoided the core of the squall, flying beneath its moisture, partly to let the rain bead away from their feathers, clothes, and skin, and partly to wake up her dozing companion.

I am not here by choice, Rasania called out.

The squall’s strong winds and its amplification of wave intensity had dispersed and thinned much of the seaweed that normally dotted the surface of the water. They were quite far north, near to the limits of the warm, immensely broad river of water below—what Yalara called the Great Warm Stream—and the limit of the seaweed’s growth. Yalara knew they could rest upon the open sea—they had done so many times before—but it would not be a comfortable sleep, and there could be dangers lurking below the surface. Both Riders and their petrels scanned the horizon and darkening seas that still refracted beams of sun glint back up towards them from the rough surface of the waves. Soon, they spotted a large enough patch. They descended quickly and determined the best clump upon which to settle.

There, Rasania, look over there. That mat will do nicely, Yalara said, relieved, her arm pointing close to the centre of a larger seaweed patch. She almost let out a howl of joy but restrained herself. Instead, Rasania yelled out. Yalara knew it was an irresistible release not only from the tension of flying long distances but also from the annoyance and vexation her companion had held within.

The Riders and their petrels soon landed on the floating mat of seaweed—what they called the natantis plantate or Seryasu. The Seryasu seaweed had a central holdfast, a vestige of ancestral forms of the weed, which attached to a rocky substrate close to the shore. Its stalks and green fronds collected the sun’s energy for growth. The thin, stubby leaves enclosed gas vesicles that kept the weed afloat, and once these plants became entwined, the Seryasu could form immense, entangled mats that were heaped together and resisted breakup from wave action. Younglings would all, at some point, spend time popping the vesicles until an adult mildly rebuked them for sinking the Seryasu that grew fixed to the Seanest.

The Sprites would routinely collect individual clumps of newly grown Seryasu, air-dry its fronds, and from its powder make a hot tea to drink. The tea was mildly intoxicating, and young Sprites often experienced a slight sense of euphoria and altered vision when they first drank the tea. But the effect wore off with repeated consumption. Yalara laughed, recollecting her first experiences of the mild intoxicant and the vague, inchoate ideas about many things of supposed import that she and other initiates had voiced in a confused sharing. The Seryasu tea was prized for its delicacy and variety of flavor, which depended on the location it was collected, its type, and the age of the seaweed itself.

Varaku and Sanaka squawked loudly, sharing in the relief at finding a Seryasu refuge to rest upon. Their flight had been long—unusual for its length and difficulty—and they’d been battered by the changeable and forceful winds. Both Sprites dismounted from their petrels quickly, having first unfettered their own smaller wings. Standing besides their charges, the Sprites’ feet were slightly suspended above the weed patch, and both Riders loosened the harnesses that had bound them to their petrels. The birds shook themselves vigorously—heads and beaks facing upward, loudly screeching at each other—and then turned their attention to grooming their feathers, especially where the harnesses had been fastened. Each woven harness fit its petrel uniquely, so that both Rider and bird could fly with the greatest efficiency. Yalara stroked her bird’s feathers, sharing its relief to be freed from its constraints. The harnesses were soon folded neatly and stowed away in the Sprites’ sacks.

Yalara whispered softly to Varaku, whom she had known and loved since she had chosen him as a young fledgling. She hugged him tightly, and his head nestled into her chest. Varaku was Yalara’s fifth sea petrel. She had chosen the name of her first bird, knowing that its descendants would carry that name through six generations of birds. Sprites always kept the same name for their petrels, but they distinguished them by changing the last letter. According to custom, Yalara’s first petrel was named Varaka, and her other birds were Varake, Varaki, Varako, and Varaku. In the future, her sixth petrel would be named Varaky-i, and after it died, Yalara would choose a new root name for her next petrel, beginning a new cycle of name lineage.

Varaku’s bright eyes, his immature but soon-to-be-strong wings, and his contrasting markings had exerted their influence on Yalara as soon as she had chosen him. Since then, their bond had grown as Rider and Vachk, as was the case with all Riders and petrels. The birds had their own strong nature and wildness of spirit, but their faithfulness to their Sprite Riders was difficult—if not impossible—to break.

Yalara’s whisper—with hand on her bird’s head—was the Chruk, the obligatory evening ritual of thanks after a day of flying. Yalara never missed that ritual. Rasania repeated the sayings with her own bird, and the petrels nuzzled their heads against their Riders for a short time.

Restlessness grew—time for the birds to fly. The petrels got to their feet, moved forward, and in their excitement began to squabble with each other—beak against beak. Then, they launched themselves into the air, loudly talking to each other and their Sprites. As Yalara watched, they circled briefly and headed out to hunt. They’d all spied a couple of gulls flying to the east, which meant that a floating forest—a Natantis Ligno—must be close by.

In the hunt, petrels were highly aggressive. Most knew no fear, and they were relentless in their pursuit. Varaku and Sanaka knew how to pull much larger gulls down into the sea and, with their sharp claws and beaks, could dispatch their prey quickly. But that aggression didn’t extend towards their Sprites. A young fledgling—particularly a feisty yearling—might occasionally nip a Sprite, but it was almost unheard of for a petrel to turn on a smaller Rider. Besides, Sprites had their own defenses and offensive capabilities—particularly, sharp crystal blades, expertly wielded. Petrel and Rider together. We are the most formidable foe any creature could face at sea—or at the margins of the land, for that matter, Yalara thought as she watched her bird disappear into the distance.

The Sprites also had time to swim and hunt. But instead, Yalara flew to the open water and briefly swam to relieve herself after hours aloft. Upon returning, she laid her unfurled grafen mat on top of the dark green and brown mosaic of the Seryasu weed—attaching it to the thickest holdfasts of the Seryasu. She watched carefully as Rasania, back from the water as well, followed suit. Then she motioned for them to sit together, adapting to the upward and downward motion of the weed. Yalara ran her hand through the leaves of the Seryasu, steadying herself on a thicker holdfast. The Seryasu patch was large enough that the waves were attenuated at its edges, leaving the middle less disturbed, although Yalara could taste the saltiness of a fine seaspray on her lips. The grafen mats also provided protection from beneath. The grafen was woven, and because each layer was very thin, a large mat could be folded into a roll and easily stowed away in a sack. The grafen mats could also be partly inflated, providing them with relative dryness from the seawater beneath.

They sat in the direction of the setting sun and conducted their own quiet, personal ritual of thanks—the Vlar—turning their translucent crystal blades upright towards the sky, with the refracted colours of light illuminating their faces. Yalara could see the two moons in the sky, one large and the other smaller. They were close to each other and becoming more visible in the twilight.

As the Sprites sat together, Yalara and Rasania looked at each other for a moment.

Why are we here? Rasania blurted out, barely contained her simmering anger. Why have we come this far? We need to go home to our Seanest soon. Her cheeks reddened, and her mouth held tight.

Yalara momentarily thought about her home, the Seanest. Sprites called their homes by many names. It was Seanest, or simply "nest to many in casual conversation. More formal were the terms Mare Nido or Aqua Nido—the water nest. Some clans opted for the Calcar Nido, honouring the mineral and organic structure of their homes. Rasania called their home the honeycomb." Others called their homes by harsher names, especially when they had been working in the bowels and had not emerged for some time to feel the warmth of the sun on their skin and smell the saltiness of the air—a smell that was particularly strong after lightning, when the air had been split into its constituent parts. To the poets, the Seanest was the home of long corridors, the entwined limbs and branches of a foliated Adar tree, and the long spires that pointed in many directions, to the moon above and downwards towards the seafloor. It was the Veliger to Yalara.

"Rasania, we can’t go home—not just yet. We must continue searching for a little longer. cha-Narik trusted us with this mission, and she’s sent us here for a purpose. We are the best Riders, our petrels can fly the farthest, and we’re the most experienced team." Yalara responded firmly but with patience. cha-Narik was their leader, the "cha" an honorific used to designate her standing as commander of their home, the Veliger. Yalara and Rasania’s clan was the Narika, named after cha-Narik. In the distant future, after their leader’s death, their clan and Seanest might be known as the Yalaraka—that was the unstated assumption amongst the Sprites of their clan, including Yalara herself.

"But what are we searching for? We’ve flown around in circles. We haven’t found anything. Sanaka will be exhausted when we get back home, and he won’t be ready. He’ll be too tired for the Races." Rasania spoke with petulant anxiety, her hands beating gently on her knees. Yalara reached out her hand to place it on her companion’s forearm, and Rasania bowed her head slightly in an act of contrition.

I understand; I truly do, Yalara said and withdrew her hand to her own lap. Rasania had finally admitted the cause of her frustration. It was not a surprise to Yalara, of course, given the importance of the Gathering and the competition of the Races. The younger Sprite would never have had the courage to express such aggravation in cha-Narik’s presence, and Yalara felt glad that Rasania had finally shared her confidences on the isolated Seryasu weed patch. Beneath her relative composure, Rasania had been seething with anger since their leader, cha-Narik, had sent them out from their home on the search. Rasania’s desperation to participate in the Gathering and the Races had finally expressed itself.

You’ve controlled your temper and frustrations well these few days, Yalara said. I probably would have flown out to sea from the Veliger a good distance, out of hearing, shouted very loudly for some time at the waters, and most likely, the tension would have released itself. She spoke in a conciliatory tone to her younger companion. It did not need to be stated that Yalara knew that both of them had complete loyalty to their leader, cha-Narik, and their kin.

"There is a good reason for our mission, Rasania. You know that cha-Narik would never send us to search for a trivial cause. She gazed into the other Sprite’s face. I understand why you’re frustrated, but you will have to be patient. Sanaka is one of the strongest yearlings I’ve ever seen. So, don’t worry—he’ll be ready for the Races."

We’ll search for another couple of days. If we don’t find what I’m looking for, then we’ll return to the Veliger, came the quiet but firm reassurance. Seeing Rasania’s doubtful expression, she added, "He will have plenty of time to recover, and he will be ready for the Races. I’ll school you a little more on releasing from gravitas. It’s a trick someone taught me a long time ago. It will help you—and Sanaka too, of course." She glanced at her companion.

Rasania said nothing but simply nodded. It was enough.

"But what are we searching for?" Rasania asked