On Terrors from the Deep and Other Oceanic Mysteries - The Journal of Anther Strein
The Journal of Anther Strein
Observations from a Travelling Naturalist in a Fantasy World
Written by Lachlan Marnoch
with Illustrations by Nayoung Lee
Photograph by Bruno Kelzer
Opalday 8th of Zholdan, 787 AoC
Fishing ship Connotation, east of the Strait of the Teeth
On Terrors from the Deep and Other Oceanic Mysteries
I have begun a second notebook, in which my detailed notes on the processes and forces of evolution shall reside. This shall act, I hope, as a rough draft of the volume in which I shall one day publish the full theory of generational change. Some few of these thoughts may indeed appear here, as new ones spring to mind or as old ones become more lucid, but it is in this other book that I intend to work them to full clarity. Here instead shall go my direct observations (many of which may indeed pertain to evolution), while further synthesis shall be relegated to the second. My discussions with the captain, some of which I’ve related previously, are continuing to prove most enlightening.
The Connotation has now reached the latitudes of the Teeth of Proesus, the pair of large island-nations that mark the eastern boundary of the Jaw Sea. We have sailed past the east coast of Aranta, the northerly of the two, and are nearing the strait that lies between this landmass and its southern neighbour, Taragon. Piracy is not totally uncommon along this coastline, but the Maragana appear unconcerned. Fishing ships, it is true, are not prime targets, but the Connotation itself would make a fine prize. I suspect the ship is not so undefended as it may first appear.
Sail directly east from the Teeth and you would, in theory, eventually reach the island of Maragana itself. One would be ill-advised to attempt this, however; in the intervening seas, there lies a region, apparently centred on a cluster of coral atolls, in which marine disappearances and shipwrecks occur at a rate far above normal. Some estimates place the number as high as one for every two ships that sail through, although this calculation is made difficult by the sparse numbers of craft now willing to risk the passage. Among sailors the region is known, directly and aptly, as the Killing Zone.
The odd aspect of this phenomenon, if it can be said to have but one, is that the bulk of the disappearances seem to occur over relatively calm and shallow waters, with nothing particularly unusual to be said about them; by all accounts they should be easily navigable. The Maragana have been accused, in the past, of causing the wrecks themselves, perhaps in the interests of retaining their monopoly over the passages to the east. However, their shipping routes avoid the Zone just as stridently as any other nation, despite it lying along the most direct path from Maragana island to the Jaw Sea’s numerous ports.
The Maragana aboard Connotation claim that the Killing Zone is most likely simply more prone to storms and other material disturbances than the surrounding seas. But, in this case, shouldn’t the presence of a weather-sorcerer on most ships be enough to protect the Maragana fleet? When on this point I pressed this ship's meteomancer further, he simply shrugged. The captain, on the other hand, went to extraordinary lengths to change the subject. I do not suspect them of direct involvement, but, as with many of the mysteries of the ocean, I surmise that the Maragana know more of this matter than they are willing to reveal.
Another possibility is that the Killing Zone is home to some kind of wild magic, or an ancient curse. Although sometimes attributed to the activity of a rogue kraken1, the reports on the Zone's deadliness go back millennia, well outside the plausible lifespan of any kraken (although there have been some individuals reported, particularly of the giant kraken Leviathana maximus, with an apparent age numbered in centuries). The existence of an undiscovered, unusually aggressive kraken species endemic to the Zone, is not implausible, but the animals would need to be quite adept at concealing themselves2. Or perhaps some known kraken species migrate to these waters for courtship, which could explain any heightened aggression. However, one would expect at least some report of the species to have found its way to Proesan science.
Another possibility is that the Zone is home to a distinct, yet-unknown creature of the ocean; although, again, it is strange that it should inhabit shallow waters and remain undiscovered. It is certain that a bizarre array of animals exists in the deep dark of the ocean, contrary to previous predictions concerning habitability at great pressure and little light. I witnessed the Maragana dragging such creatures from the depths only days prior, although none so large as to be suspected of sinking a vessel. On our journey south, the Connotation passed over some unusually deep regions far east of Shull. There below us lay a trench, known to the Maragana as the Swallowing Void, reaching further into the depths of the world than has yet been measured. Deep-sea animals are not a specialty of this ship, but there is one fish there of particular value; the Maragana keep aboard a magically-strengthened trawling net for just this purpose. Hauled to the surface with this equipment was an endlessly fascinating parade of oddity, of which angler fish and giant isopods were the least; creatures with vast, gazing eyes and long, needle-like teeth; pale-skinned fish with immense, unfolding jaws and horrific grimaces; crabs with legspans as great as a Maragana is tall. And, on the largest of these animals, tooth or beak wounds that could only have been inflicted by creatures of much greater size.
It seems almost reasonable that such creatures should be relegated to the darkest reaches of our world, as if this was done to conceal the horror3 of their appearance! But then, perhaps I am being unfair--who can know what catastrophic changes the transition between the crushing depths to the surface must perform on an animal adapted to live its entire life in the former. The corpses we glimpse at the surface might not truly reflect their living counterparts in appearance, let alone allow us to peer into what must be a truly compelling array of behaviours.
The primary target of this whole business is the armoured crabjaw, Agmong yeonlyo, a creature of truly bizarre and fearsome appearance. A fish with a squat body clad in bony armour, the most unique characteristic of the animal is its mouthparts. To either side of an ordinary, if powerful, mouth are three pairs of laterally-opposed, almost insectoid mandibles; as the name of the animal suggests, the extra mouthparts resemble, at first glance, nothing greater than the articulated legs of a crustacean. Presumably they play a role in the fish’s predation (little doubt it is a predator, from the frightening array of jagged teeth with which its inner mouth is lined), perhaps to seize and hold struggling prey in place while the main jaws effect the kill. The armour is particularly thick between the creature’s eyes and above the main jaw--could it perhaps use its head as a weapon for stunning prey, before grasping with its unusual mouthparts? I find it difficult to picture the fish’s cumbersome body attaining the speeds required to support such a behaviour, but appearances can be deceiving. The lidless, bulging eyes of the fish complete its unsettling appearance even in death. The crabjaw appears unique among the fishes, with no known analogues to its frightening mouthparts either living or extinct; the articulated armour encasing its head and thorax are also quite particular, although of this feature fossil analogues do exist. It also differs in a number of other key morphologies from other extant fishes. If my thesis on the origin of species is to be borne out, other crabjaws or proto-crabjaws are still to be discovered in the fossil record, but for now this species remains a true oddity of the natural world.
However it came to be, the crabjaw is considered a delicacy in several nations across Proesus, with particular popularity in Aranta. The unusual mouthparts are especially sought after, served deep-fried as appetisers in the high-end seafood eateries of Lantara city. However, Proesus fishing fleets have not yet mastered the technology necessary to deliver commercial supplies of the crabjaw from its abyssal domain; hence a lucrative niche for Maragana fisherpeople to fill. Although the crabjaws were the primary object of the Connotation’s trawl, Naaki intends to waste none of the catch; any that cannot be sold at port will become food for the crew. The indiscriminate fashion in which they were caught is unusual for a Maragana vessel, and Naaki is entirely conscious of the problems it could cause in the fathomless ecosystems below.
The blobfish and the monkfish, other byproducts of these catches, sell well enough on their own--despite the distinctly yet equally unappetising countenances of the two groups, both are sought by delicatessens throughout the respective coastal peninsulas of Shull and the Fork. The blue danger-squid (Cunnart gorma), unusual in having only four arms4, makes up a substantial portion of the catch, and although its meat is not considered overly flavourful it will do for an inexpensive calamari. The species’ ink also fills the inkwells of many a Proesus scholar, as it now does my own!
On the last of the Connotation’s trawls, the net--enchanted or not--emerged with a large newly-formed hole across several of its ropes, one that can only have been opened deliberately. Whether the motive of the offender was ingress or egress is unclear; Naaki tells that there are creatures of the depths with the cunning to steal a fisher’s catch right from her net. Some Maragana fisherpeople use baited deep-sea lines, warded with spells that report when an animal has been hooked; often enough, when the line is pulled back to the surface, the catch has been either stripped to the bone or extracted skilfully from the hook.
Occasionally, the vast mammoth squid (Daeojingeo ceanncinnidha), as great as six heights in total length when tentacles are included, is itself entangled while attempting this heist, to be brought up as an unintended catch; and, not uncommonly, one of these ambitious molluscs will arrive half-eaten by something even larger. Some portion of these events may be attributed to the powerful fathoming chireks (genus Fathoma), which are believed to attain phenomenal depths in their hour-long hunting dives; however, the partial consumption of the would-be thieving cephalopods has also been noted in regions where no fathom chirek has ever been seen, and with bite-marks not matching the broad teeth of the chirek. So it is not with haste that I discard any hypothesis concerning the activity of such unknown abyssopelagic horrors.
I have been warned repeatedly by the Maragana against diving too deep. Although us Paluchard are better swimmers than most, we are still susceptible to diving sickness--something Maragana appear immune to, or instinctively avoid. This is consistent with my theory, for while we are land creatures who colonised the water, they are beings of the sea who colonised the land. Although they are at home in both, those instincts linger on. I, on the other hand, must remind myself to make stops at various depths on my way to the surface, so that my body may readjust. I have heard reports from divers suffering from the bends, and have no desire to share their anguish. Still, when diving in the open ocean, suspended between the apparently eternal dark void below and the dancing light of the surface above, I find myself vacillating between a fundamental terror at the unknown beneath me and a barely-resisted compulsion to explore it.
As deep as they plumb, Maragana nets but skim the surface. The true depths of the ocean remain a foreign world. Only what remains are pulled to the surface, or are cut from the stomachs of fathom chireks5, present any clue--and these are enough to fire the imagination to a roaring blaze6. Only the meanest fraction of the unthinkably vast volume of Pendant’s oceans have been guessed at, much less explored; even the Maragana, who might be considered the world’s foremost experts on the creatures of deep sea, can attest to but a tiny slice of its diversity. Given that water covers more of the world than its land, and that in places it stretches to kiloheights in depth, it might--nay, must--play host to a plethora of animals to which we are utterly oblivious. Why, an entire sapient civilization could lie hidden in the ocean, mutually unaware of surface lifei.
The Killing Zone calls to mind another alluring oceanic mystery, in the Forbidding; an extraordinary invisible barrier in the Western Ocean. The Forbidding is semi-permeable; water and wind enjoy apparent free passage in either direction, while no solid object appears able to pass through from within; but anything may enter the barrier from the outside.
Some thousands of kiloheights west of Proesus, the Forbidding circles about a vast portion of the world, from near the tropics in the northerly direction to well south of the Circle of Frost, and from the same eastern longitudes as the Austium Archipelago to as far west as Nuntius; it is believed so vast that a continent on the scale of Proesus might fit inside of it. I feel confident in declaring that even the Maragana do not know what lies inside the Forbidding, as they themselves profess; a more sincere ignorance, I suspect, than that claimed of the Killing Zone. The correct extent of the barrier is unknown, and indeed whether it is in fact unbroken7, due to the immense difficulty in charting it--until recently, the only method available to do so was with the sacrifice of craft after craft. Modern magic has developed probes capable of detecting it, and efforts at mapping it properly are now being made. However, this remains a dangerous venture, for the probes only function at close range, and an unexpected confluence of wind and current might easily push a craft past the line of no return. This is the most likely fate of Austium explorer and sea captain Conent, to whose fascination with and repeated voyages to the Forbidding we owe most of our knowledge of it; it was from the last of these that she and her vessel the Dragonfly failed to return.
Although no object from within the Forbidding has ever been recovered, Conent's journals report that when and where the conditions are right one can directly observe the effect of the barrier. This is best done with a looking-glass or telescope from a sufficient distance. Currents and wind push driftwood, seaweed and other detritus against the barrier from the inside, forming floating deposits kiloheights wide and yet severely demarcated on the outer edge. No matter how the waves crash through these floating piles, the material will smash to pieces rather than cross the unseen line. Planks of wood will stop dead in the air, or even bounce backward, as though meeting a solid surface. One of Conent's reports tells of a sea-eagle, observed to unknowingly cross the Forbidding while on the hunt; catch in talon, it wheeled about to return to its island home, only to crumple headlong against the invisible barrier and tumble into the ocean. And yet, stiff breezes have been observed to emanate from within, and waves may pass through without difficulty. Insidious indeed.
I’m sure that the two phenomena of Killing Zone and Forbidding, although outwardly similar in their mystery and hazard, are fundamentally different in nature. Wreckage from ships destroyed in the Zone is often recovered, if with damage that is difficult to explain; meanwhile, legend and science are consistent in reporting that nothing of those craft that cross the Forbidding is ever returned, debris or no. The Forbidding can only be magical in nature, although of a scale elsewhere unknown to wild magic; meanwhile, the Killing Zone still has a number of alternate explanations available to it. Although it is assumed that those craft lost to the Forbidding are destroyed, there is no physical evidence of this. Indeed, perhaps an unexplored landmass lurks within, on which the people stranded there might survive. Wishful thinking, to be sure, but I find it no less plausible than the other possibilities.
We are now deep into the winter months of this part of the world, and the Strait is not considered warm even during the height of summer. It has been something of a shock to travel, in the span of a short couple of weeks, from the pleasant warmth of dry-season Veduka to latitudes at which mist forms from one’s breath even in the midday sun. I have had to adopt padded clothing, purchased at the Aranta ports in which the Connotation paused for reprovisioning. Nonetheless, winter is considered the peak of the Bloom, and with every chill my excitement grows. Traces of the Bloom have leached out via the Strait; although not visible by day, by night a soft coloured glow can be observed rising from the waves. I’ve already taken samples of ocean water, but have not managed to spot anything of interest in them aside from the shine; I might have to wait for the greater concentrations I will no doubt find at the Jaw Sea’s heart.
1 Tall tales of the black kraken, an ancient scarred being with a grudge against sapient vessels, are told in every port tavern in Proesus.
2 Perhaps I overestimate this constraint; for if no sailor is willing to visit the region, how would a naturalist arrive there to discover an endemic species?
3 When I say horror, I actually mean in myself a kind of keen fascination. Strange creatures have always inspired in me the deepest interest.
4 In fact, the danger-squid has eight arms and two longer tentacles, like all true squid--but four of the arms are so small, and arranged inward about the beak, as to qualify as mere mouthparts.
5 It is from such dissections that the mammoth squid first made itself known to Proesus, via the hard, indigestible beak.
6 The enormous marine centipede known as the conrit (Retbien kinhkhung), thought mythical until recently, is known only from such bloated cadavers, as is the trench kraken (Profundus abyssus).
7 It may be that a gap to the barrier lies south of the Circle of Frost, a locale particurlarly inhospitable to exploration.
i Or, as Proesus only learned centuries after Anther's death, not entirely mutually.