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‘What will we do now?’ Tellur asked bluntly. ‘We cannot wrap such a creature and drag it down. It would be like wrestling a whale!’

‘Actually, that would not be an impossible task,’ Kelaro observed with the confidence of his size. He brought his mane up aggressively. ‘It would be a battle, but there are many of us. We would prevail.’

‘We shall not begin with force,’ Maulkin informed him.

Shreever watched him gather his strength.

Sometimes it seemed to her that the spark of his vitality burned as brightly as ever, but that his physical being dwindled as it burned.

She wished she could convince him to conserve himself, but that unending argument was best not begun.

The prophet-seer stretched himself to his full length.

A swift ripple undulated his whole body, waking his false-eyes to bright gold.

Slowly his ruff blossomed about his throat, until every spine of his mane stood stiff and welling venom.

His great copper eyes spun with purpose. ‘Await my call,’ he directed them.

They obeyed as he left them and swam up towards the great silver shape.

This one was not a provider. He had not the taint of old blood and waste to him that was the hallmark of the hulks who bestowed flesh upon them.

This creature moved more swiftly, though he had neither fins nor flippers that Shreever could discern.

He had a single flipper-like appendage at the back of his rounded belly, but he did not appear to use it to move.

Rather he slid through the Plenty effortlessly, with his upper body basking in the Lack.

Maulkin matched his pace. He did not seem to have gills, eyes, or a mane, but Maulkin hailed him anyway.

‘Maulkin’s tangle gives you greeting. We have travelled far, in search of One Who Remembers. Are not you such a one?’

He gave no sign of hearing Maulkin. His speed did not slow nor vary.

His scent did not change. It was as if he were completely unaware of the serpent.

For a time, Maulkin kept pace with him, waiting patiently.

He hailed him again, but again there was no response.

He suddenly lashed himself to greater speed, to place himself ahead of the silver one.

Then, with a shuddering shake of his mane, he released a stunning cloud of toxin.

The creature passed through it without even slowing.

He seemed unfazed by the toxins. It was only after he had passed that Shreever sensed something from him; a thin shivering from the silvery body, a faint scent of uneasiness.

It was so slight a reaction, scarcely a response at all, but still she took courage from it.

He might pretend to ignore them, but he was aware of them all the same.

Maulkin felt the same, for he suddenly whipped his body in front of the creature, where he must pause or collide with him. ‘I am Maulkin of Maulkin’s tangle! I do demand your name!’

He struck Maulkin. He ran him down as if he were kelp.

But Maulkin was not kelp, to be brushed aside.

‘I demand your name!’ he bellowed. He flung his full length against the silver creature.

His tangle followed him. They could not wrap the silver one, though they tried.

They could nudge and bump him. Cobalt Kelaro even rammed him, striking a blow that near stunned the serpent, while Sessurea battered the creature’s single flipper.

Every member of the tangle released their most potent toxins, so that they passed through cloud after cloud of their own poisons.

Their attack slowed and baffled the great creature.

He hesitated in his course. Shreever heard shrill keening.

Did he sing into the Lack, even under the full light of the sun?

Disoriented and gasping in the wild array of toxins, she rose to lift her head out into the Lack.

It was there she found his face and flippers, unlike any she had ever beheld.

He had no mane, but spread great white wings above him, like a gull coming to rest on the face of the Plenty.

Parasites infested his body. They hopped and clung to his upper body and wings, making shrill cries.

At the sight of her, their agitation increased.

Emboldened, she lifted as much of her length up as she could.

She flung herself into the grey one’s face.

‘Who are you?’ she trumpeted. She shook her own small mane, lashing him with her stinging cells, spattering him with her toxins.

‘Say your name! Shreever of Maulkin’s tangle demands that you remember for her! ’

He cried out as her toxins struck him. He lifted his flippers to his face and pawed at himself.

The parasites scampered madly over his back, trumpeting in their tiny voices.

The silver one suddenly leaned far over.

Shreever thought he would dive to escape her; then she saw that it was not by his own will that this was done.

Maulkin had united his tangle’s efforts.

Their combined force pushed upon him, making him wallow far to one side.

His white wing clipped the water. A parasite fell, buzzing shrilly, into the Plenty.

One of the feral serpents surged forward to snatch it up.

They had only to be shown once. The entire school of them then converged on the silver one.

With a violence that surely Maulkin had never intended, they battered and rocked the creature.

He cried out wildly and swung his flippers about in frantic efforts to strike his attackers.

This only enraged the feral serpents more.

They added their undisciplined toxins to those already clouding the Plenty.

Fish-stun and shark-repellent battered her senses.

The feral serpents were doing most of the work now, while Maulkin and his tangle circled the embattled creature, repeating over and over their demands for his name.

More and more of the parasites plummeted into the water.

The creature’s great white wings flapped wildly as they dipped into the Plenty, first on one side and then the other.

Finally, when the creature was laid over almost completely on his side, Kelaro flung his great length out of the Plenty.

He crashed down on the creature’s unprotected flank.

Swiftly other serpents joined him, both sentient and feral.

Some leapt up to seize his stiff limbs and fluttering wings.

The silver creature tried to roll back, but there were too many of them.

He could not overcome them. Their weight overwhelmed him and drew him under, away from the Lack and deeper into Plenty.

As they pulled him down, the parasites tried to leap free of him, but snapping jaws awaited every one of them.

‘Your name!’ Maulkin insisted as they bore him down. ‘Tell us your name!’

The creature bellowed and gesticulated wildly, but gave them no words.

Maulkin darted at him, wrapping his length around the creature’s forepart.

He shook his mane right in the creature’s face, discharging toxins in a thick cloud.

‘Speak!’ he commanded him. ‘Remember for us. Give us your name! What was your name?’

He struggled, his tiny head and forelimbs convulsing in Maulkin’s grip while the disproportionate bulk of his body remained stiff and unyielding.

Some of his smaller brittle limbs broke away while his wings grew wet and heavy.

Still, he struggled to rise to the top of the Plenty.

They could not drag him completely down, though the tangle managed to hold him below the Lack.

‘Speak to us!’ Maulkin commanded him. ‘Just one word. Just your name and we will let you go. Reach for it, reach back for it. You have it. We know you do. We can smell the thickness of your memories.’

He battered wildly at the prophet. His mouth gaped and stretched with his sounds, but no sense came out of him.

Then he suddenly went still. His eyes, small and brown, went wide.

His mouth gaped once, twice. Then he suddenly relaxed in Maulkin’s grasp.

Shreever lidded her eyes. The silver-grey creature was dead. They had killed him, to no good end.

Then he suddenly spoke. Shreever’s attention snapped back to him.

His voice was thin, almost bodiless. His puny forelimbs tried to encircle Maulkin’s thick body in an embrace.

‘I was Draquius. I am no more. I am a dead thing, speaking with the mouth of memories.’ His trumpet was shrill and weak, barely audible.

The tangle grew still, gathering closer in awe.

Draquius spoke on. ‘It was the time of the change. We had swum far up the river, to where the memory silt was fine and thick. We had spun our cocoons, encasing ourselves in thread woven of memory. Our parents laved us with the silt of memories, gave us our names and their memories to share. They watched us, our old friends. They celebrated our time of change, under the blue skies. They cheered as we wallowed from the river to the sunny banks, to let the light and the heat dry our cases while we transformed ourselves. Layer upon layer of memories and silt they wrapped us in. It was a season of joy. Our parents filled the skies with their colours and songs. We would rest through the time of cold, to awaken and emerge when the days turned hot and long.’ He closed his small eyes, as if pained.

He clung to Maulkin as if he were part of his own tangle.