“It does,” he insisted. “I'm sure of it. Though no one has ever seen it directly, there
are stories-hundreds of stories-about the great Blood Sea Monster.” He looked away from
me, gazing out onto
the water. “Some say it's as big as a thousand fishing boats. Others say it isn't the size
of the beast, it's the length of its teeth and claws you have to watch out for. But nobody
really knows. I knew one man, though, who claimed he saw the beast's reflection in a
mirror. He said it had a scaly, blood-stained face that oozed black pus. But it doesn't
matter what it looks like. What matters is that I catch it!”
“Why?”
His eye narrowed and his voice grew thick with anger. But he wasn't angry with me. His
rage was aimed at the creature he sought. “It killed my father,” he said. "And it killed
his father, too. It killed my only brother, my sons, my nephews-fishermen, all-
it took them to their deaths on this sea of blood. In the end, my wife died of ... neglect
. . . grief. Now I'm alone. No family. Nobody. An old man with nothing in his heart but
the desire for revenge.“ He lifted his head and stared at the sky with a fire in his eyes.
”And I'll have that revenge!“ he shouted into the night. ”I swear it!"
If Six-Finger kept yelling like that, he was going to scare away the fish. He had already
scared me.
I forgot all about his ravings when he offered me one of his wheat cakes. I gobbled it
down so fast that the old man offered me a piece of fruit from his bag. “What about you?”
I asked, not wanting to appear unmindful of my host (and wanting to keep his mind off the
Blood Sea Monster). “Aren't you going to eat?”
“My appetite isn't what it used to be,” he said with a sigh. “I don't eat half of the
things I bring along. Most of the time I throw my leftover food overboard for the fish to
eat. A man can't take from the Blood Sea without giving something back,” he said
reverently. “If the fish live and multiply, then so will the fishermen.”
It was a nice thought, but I was hoping he wouldn't throw anything overboard that night,
because I was awfully hungry.
He must have been reading my mind, because he took a sweetcake for himself and then handed
his food bag over to me, saying, “Take as much as you like.”
I took it all.
The moon was halfway across the sky by the time I finished eating. And, then, finally, the
old man tossed his fishing line into the water.
We bobbed on the gentle sea, neither one of us talking. I wondered how long we would stay
out that night before the old man grew tired and gave up. And I wondered what I would do
when we reached shore. Would I move on and steal my bread from another baker, in another
town? I wanted more from life than just crumbs. I had a restless craving for ...
experience. That was why I had stolen the elven leader's locket, back in my homeland. I
thought that the locket held a secret incantation that would give me power and wisdom.
Instead it only brought me misery. When my thievery was discovered, I was banished from my
home. Cast out, I had become a dark elf, a renegade. But where was I running TO7
The boat, as well as the night, drifted along with my thoughts. I had no idea of the time.
I liked that about the sea. The timelessness. The old man was intent upon his fishing and
I was intent upon my dreaming- until there was a splash in the water!
“I've got something!” Six-Finger exclaimed.
His line went taut. The bow of the boat tipped down as the creature at the other end dove
deep with the hook in its mouth.
He didn't really think he had caught the Blood Sea Monster, did he?
Expertly, the old fisherman gave the diving fish some slack and let him run. Then, as the
fish let up, the old man tugged back, reeling him in. When the fish tried to pull away,
the old man patiently repeated the process. Yet I could tell that Six-Finger was
straining. Whatever was at the end of the line was something powerful, something that
wouldn't give up without a terrible fight.
But Six-Finger stayed with the creature until it finally broke the surface again,
splashing just off the stem of the boat.
“It's big!” I cried despite myself, seeing the shadow that it cast in the moonlight.
The old man simply scowled. He knew what he had-and it wasn't what he wanted. Still, he
reeled the fish in. I helped get it out of the water by using the old man's net.
When I dumped it on the bottom of the little boat, I could see what the old man had
caught: a rare-and very feisty-Bela Fish. I had heard of them but had never seen one
before because fishermen always throw them overboard. You see, the Beta Fish tastes
terrible, and there is no market for it. It's also bad luck to kill a Bela Fish because
it's one of the rare fish that can communicate with land creatures.
And the Bela Fish wasn't shy about communicating with us. ... “The hook hurts!” it cried.
“Take it out of my mouth!” I immediately got down on my knees and carefully removed
the hook. “Thank you,” said the fish. "Now, if you would be so good as
to get me back in the water?" I didn't hesitate. I started putting my hands underneath the
body of the Bela Fish, but the old man slapped my wrists. “Leave him be,” said Six-Finger.
“I think we'll keep him. He'll make good bait.”
Upon hearing the old man's words, the Bela Fish started flopping all over the bottom of
the boat, desperately trying to wriggle over the side. But it was no use. “Please,” begged
the fish, “let me go!”
I was stunned. I couldn't believe that the old man could be so cruel. How could a man
share his food so generously in one moment and then torture an innocent creature in the
next?
“Let the Bela Fish go,” I demanded. “If he doesn't get back in the water soon, he will
die.”
“Then he'll die,” replied Six-Finger steadfastly. “But I'll give this fish one chance to
save his life. And one chance only.”
“What is it?” cried the Bela Fish. “I'll do anything.”
“Tell me where I can find the Blood Sea Monster,” demanded the old man.
The Bela Fish looked at me and then at the old man. “You don't want to know that,” it said.
“I do, indeed,” insisted Six-Finger. “If you want to live, you will tell me. And you'll
tell me right now.”
“If YOU want to live, you'll head right back to shore,” retorted the fish.
My eyes opened wide at the meaning of the fish's words. “You mean there is such a beast,
then?” I cried.
“There is, yes, oh, without question-yes,” said the Bela Fish. “And I can tell you that we
swim away as fast as we can when we hear that it's near.”
“Why?” The Bela Fish blinked. “You mean you don't know?” “No.” The fish tried to laugh,
but it was quickly losing its
strength. Instead, in a weak voice, it said, “There is a reason why no one has ever seen
the Blood Sea Monster and lived. It moves through the water like a dark shadow. And the
water in its wake is cold, empty . . . dead.”
“I don't understand,” I said, confused.
“You'll understand all too well if you continue your foolish quest,” it replied. “I beg of
you, don't-”
“Enough!” exploded the old man, cutting off the Bela Fish. He picked up the fish in his
two hands and demanded, “Where is the beast? It's that, or I'll eat you myself, bad taste
and all!”
“I was just trying to save you,” it gasped. “But if you want to know so badly, I'll tell
you.”
“Speak up, then, and don't delay,” said the old man harshly, leaning close to hear the
Bela Fish's words.
“The beast you seek is close by, near the center of the Blood Sea, where a ship was sucked
into the whirlpool's maelstrom. You see, it's the monster's ever-swinging tail that causes
the whirlpool, and it's the steam that rises from its body that causes the raging storm
that never leaves the center of the sea.”
I shuddered, remembering the body and the wooden plaque with the name. THE PERECHON.
The old man grunted with satisfaction. The Bela Fish's words had not frightened Six-Finger
Fiske the way they had frightened me. Finally, after all these years, his revenge was at
hand.
In fulfillment of his bargain, the old man threw the Bela Fish overboard. Then Six-Finger
feverishly took the oars in hand and began rowing toward the deadly center of the Blood
Sea. But even as Six-Finger rowed, the Bela Fish swam up close beside the boat and warned,
“You're making a mistake. Turn away! Don't go!”
When the old man ignored the fish, the creature turned toward me and cried, “You were kind
to me. I want to help you. Listen to what I say, and jump overboard. Save yourself!”
The sea elves are cousins of my people, but that didn't mean that I could swim like a
fish. We were miles from shore and the thought of jumping into the middle of the Blood Sea
seemed akin to taking my own life. Despite my fear, I chose to stay with the old man.
But I would have stayed anyway. There was something about the old man's fierce
determination that hit a nerve inside of me. He was so sure of himself, so unafraid, that
it inspired my confidence. I had been impressed by the old man's sureness in the boat-how
he caught the Bela Fish and reeled him in so expertly. But, most of all, I thought how
wonderful it would be to witness this great feat if the old man really did catch the
monster fish. Six-Finger Fiske would be famous, yes, but so would I! I'd be part of the
greatest adventure of our time; I'd be the most famous elf in the entire world if I helped
catch the Blood Sea Monster.
The old man pulled on the oars for a long time, his breath growing ragged.
“Let me row for a while,” I offered. "You'll need your strength
if the monster strikes your line.“ ”That's true,“ agreed Six-Finger. ”I'm glad you came
along." His approval put a smile on my face. I dipped the oars into the
water and rowed as hard as I could. It wasn't long before the moon and stars were obscured
by
swirling clouds. We were entering the edge of the storm that hovered over the center of
the sea. The winds blew raw and cold. And the water itself began to grow rough beneath the
boat. We were getting close to the whirlpool . . . close to the monster.
“Pull in your oars,” ordered the old man. “I'll cast my line from here.”
I was tired from the rowing and was glad to stop. I rubbed my aching arms as I watched the
old man cast his line into the dark scarlet sea.
My eyes were fixed on the line dangling out of the boat, figuring that we'd immediately
get a strike. But soon my eyes became as tired as my arms and I slumped down into the
boat, snuggling into the netting to keep warm. Out of the wind, I felt better, safer. With
my excitement ebbing, exhaustion finally crept up on me and I drifted off to sleep.
I don't know how long I dozed, but when I opened my eyes, I heard the old man cough and
grumble. I felt sorry for him, sitting up in the cold, damp night, fighting to keep his
dream alive of catching this one great fish before he died. It seemed like a dream that
would go unfulfilled, for the night was passing and he hadn't had a single bite on his
line.
Not a single bite.
My breath caught in my throat. In all that time, it was impossible that the old man hadn't
had a single nibble, unless the waters here were DEAD. And if that was true . . .
A terrible fear gripped me, and I wanted to tell the old man to pull up his line. But I
didn't get the chance. In that very moment, he shouted, “I've got a strike!”
The fishing line went so taut it almost snapped. And even though the old man was letting
out more line to let the fish on the other end run, he couldn't do it fast enough.
The little boat was being pulled through the water!
At first we moved sluggishly across the choppy sea, but then the boat was pulled still
faster and, like a dragon in flight, we soon found ourselves soaring across the tops of
the waves.
The old man knew better than to hold the line in his bare hands. He had cleverly jammed an
oar into the prow of the boat and then wrapped the line around it.
Clever, but not clever enough. The fishing line burned through the wood as the creature on
the other end kept pulling farther and farther away.
The old man, fearing that he would run out of line and lose his catch, tied the end of the
cord around his body and then held on for the final struggle.
Seeing the old man's bold action, I jumped to the front of the boat to help him. If there
was going to be glory, I wanted my share. I took hold of the rope alongside him and tugged
at it, trying to stop the fish's run.
Six-Finger Fiske ignored my effort. Instead, he shouted up to the sky, “I've caught the
Blood Sea Monster! I've got him, and I'll never let him go!”
'I followed Six-Finger's gaze up into the heavens, but all I saw were heavy, ominous
clouds. That's when I realized our direction. The great fish was pulling our boat straight
toward the maelstrom! If we didn't change direction soon, we'd be sucked into the whirl-
pool and perish at the bottom of the Blood Sea.
“We've got to turn it!” I cried. “Look where it's taking us!”
The old man heard me and understood what I meant. He took a deep breath and pulled on the
line with every ounce of strength in his aged body. And I pulled right along with him.
The line suddenly went slack. It worked!
“We won!” Six-Finger Fiske cried with joy. “Don't you see? It's exhausted, beaten. It's
given up the struggle!”
The old man was short of breath. But though weak, his chest heaving from the battle, he
hurriedly began reeling in the monster.
I fell back, watching with glee as he pulled in arm's-length after arms-length of line. We
had really done it. The old man would be a legend. And when we hauled the beast up onto
shore, I would stand there next to Six-Finger Fiske. People would say, “Look, Duder
Basillart was a thieving dark elf, but see what he did? He helped that old fisherman catch
the Blood Sea Monster.”
I leaned over the side of the boat, anxious to see our catch. After all, I was entitled to
two percent. I would remind Six-Finger of his promise when we neared the shore. There was
no doubt in my mind that two percent of THIS catch would be worth a fortune.