Small Monsters Read online

  What are they? the small monster asked.

  Anemones, the clawed creature said. Some of the sea’s more stinging critics. They keep me honest. And they produce a good glue.

  A seagull stooped at the seal carcass. The small monster broke its neck with a blow.

  Wish I could do that, the clawed creature said.

  Eat, the small monster said. You’ll be big enough, one day.

  When the small monster was thirsty, it went inland for water. When it was hungry, it dove for fish and seals. But most of the time it sat still and watched, puzzled, as the clawed creature embellished its scales.

  Gradually, the small monster’s gleaming green mail was encased in glass, agate, and mother-of-pearl.

  Beautiful, the clawed creature said. Sunlight glowed in the small monster’s new shell. Exquisite. Exceptional. If I do say so myself.

  The anemones waved their fronds in lazy assent.

  Are you done? the small monster said.

  For a moment. Beauty must be appreciated. And then!

  It’s not over?

  Never. Life is growth; art must follow. Why, I myself have shed two shells since I started this work! But for the present, I shall scuttle along the beach and search for my next stroke of inspiration.

  The small monster did not understand much of what its companion said. Nevertheless, it escorted the clawed creature on its muttering constitutionals, waiting as a striped pebble or shapely stick held it rapt. Any seagull that swooped, thinking it had found an inattentive meal, died in a spray of bloody feathers. The clawed creature hardly noticed.

  Sometimes it crept up the small monster’s flank, perched upon a horn, and confessed its doubts.

  What if it never comes, the next idea? What then? What if my great works lie behind me?

  The small monster made reassuring noises, but did not know what else to do, for its life had been biting and bleeding, not art.

  One night, the wind rose. The air prickled and itched. Lightning cracked the violet sky. In one sheeting flash, the small monster thought it saw a forest upon the sea.

  I have it! the clawed creature shouted into the small monster’s ear. Quick, swim!

  The small monster plunged into the ocean. Though towering waves spun and flung them about, once they dove deep, the water gentled. Soon they reached the broad black hull of the ship, whose masts had looked like trees from the shore.

  Wait, the clawed creature said, clinging to the small monster.

  They did not wait long. A wave tossed the ship and smashed it down. Clean as a walnut, the hull split into halves. Small bodies tumbled out of it, as well as timbers and chests and drowning sheep. Here and there a broken chest poured a glittering of gold.

  That, the clawed creature said. I want that.

  The small monster surfaced, gasped, and dove again. It caught four coins in its claws and one in its teeth, marked where the rest sank into darkness, and swam back to shore.

  Rain lanced down as the small monster hauled itself out of the water.

  I hope they’re worth it, the small monster said.

  They will be, the clawed creature said. You’ll see.

  They huddled together under a dripping pine until the storm blew itself to shreds. A sickly dawn shone in the sky.

  Pieces of the ship started drifting ashore, as did a fine banquet of brined sailor and sheep.

  I suppose you want more of those round objects, the small monster said.

  The clawed creature said, If you don’t mind.

  Day after day, by dint of much swimming, the small monster amassed a heap of gold.

  What now? the small monster said.

  Now, I work.

  Though each golden coin was as large as its body, and so heavy it asked the small monster to hold them in place, the clawed creature labored without rest or food. Every so often, the small monster tried to coax it into eating.

  The art is all! the clawed creature said, wrestling with its piece of gold.

  Over the small monster’s shell of glass and nacre, which had split and been mended as the small monster grew, the clawed creature affixed escudo and pistole. Sunlight danced on their faces and shook bright sequins across the sand.

  There, the clawed creature said. Magnificent. You’re a treasure. Worth your weight in gold.

  Stretching, the small monster heard its golden scales clink.

  Let them bite me now, it said.

  Eh? Pass the fish.

  After day or two of dazzlement, in which the small monster flung sunlight every which way, briefly blinding a number of birds, at the clawed creature’s insistence, it covered itself in seaweed, until not a glint of its golden armor could be seen.

  More prudent that way, the clawed creature said.

  * * *

  The small monster ate, grew, fetched whatever shell or skull the clawed creature desired, and watched the ebb and flow of the tide. Despite gusts, gales, storms, and heaving waves, that stretch of seashore was the most peaceful place the small monster had known.

  It mentioned as much to the clawed creature.

  Nothing lasts, the clawed creature said, as it placed stones in a pleasing pattern on the sand. Neither good nor bad. But one must always enjoy the good.

  * * *

  That peace ended abruptly on a clear afternoon.

  The wind was crisp and blowing off the sea. The sigh of the waves curling in and out hid for a time the sounds of approach. The clawed creature was carving a sand dollar into layers of lace, and the small monster, admiring, did not hear. Only when sand trickled in rivulets down the dune above them did the small monster lift its eyes and see.

  Another monster crouched at the top of the dune. It also boasted a crown of horns, though its sides were stippled with ruby spots.

  Uh-oh, the clawed creature said. Excuse me.

  It tucked itself into its shell. The next wave that foamed in carried it off.

  What do you want? the small monster asked.

  You.

  Do I know you? the small monster said. Then it shook itself from horns to tail in surprise, for it recognized the other monster.

  As well as your own blood, the smallest monster said. I’ve tracked you through mountains and forests and fields. And now I shall eat you.

  Why?

  You owe me. The smallest monster dug its red, red claws into the soft white side of the dune.

  Then it sprang.

  The small monster turned sideways, and its sibling crashed into its seaweed-draped mail. Claws clacked on gold; a fang shattered. The smallest monster rolled and rose, snarling.

  If you’re hungry, the small monster said, these waters have squid and dogfish in them.

  I’m not here for fish, its sibling said.

  The small monster met the next charge with one glass-and-gold shoulder.

  No.

  Again its sibling found footing and lunged. Again the small monster knocked it aside.

  The smallest monster howled. Lie down and let me tear your throat out!

  No.

  Let me bite you and drink your ichor!

  No.

  While they fought, shreds of kelp fell from the small monster, until it shone with uncovered gold. The smallest monster champed its needle teeth and struck, but it did no harm. As it reared to strike again, the small monster bowled its sibling onto its back.

  The smallest monster writhed upon the sand. I’ve given up so much for you!

  I’m sorry, the small monster said. Go away.

  You think you’re so special, its sibling said. But I know you!

  The smallest monster splayed its horns, spat, and padded off. Its tail scribbled arabesques in the sand.

  The small monster watched the smallest monster go, until it was too far to see.

  After some time, it felt a slight itching on the side of its neck. This was the clawed creature, climbing to the small monster’s horns. From that perch, it surveyed the aftermath.

  You’ve lost some coins, the c
lawed creature said. I’ll fix them. Hold still.

  The small monster waited for it to cement the loosened coins back into place. Then, setting the clawed creature on its back, the small monster waded into deeper water and swam in the opposite direction from its sibling.

  For hours it swam, long after the sky reddened and darkened, until a rising tide carried them ashore. The small monster rested its chin on the cold wet sand.

  This should be far enough, the clawed creature said. Sleep. I’ll pinch if I hear anything.

  The small monster slept, dreaming of pursuit, and kicked the sand and the clawed creature in its sleep. Its tail flicked and twitched at the cry of a seal.

  When it awoke, to screeching seabirds, it was hardly rested.

  What is peace, after all, the clawed creature said, if not a moment of repose. A breath between storms. Most importantly, an opportunity for art.

  The small monster sharpened its claws on a spar.

  The clawed creature added, as an afterthought, I’ve heard that bad news comes in threes.

  It was a strange, uncertain time. The small monster swam farther south every night, staying nowhere for long. Here and there it startled a family of seals, a cormorant drying its wings against the wind, or a solitary sea lion sunning itself. The small monster ate them carefully, digging up the bloody sand and giving the bones to the sea.

  Unlike the small monster, the clawed creature evinced no anxiousness, though it acquired another two anemones. Five times now, the clawed creature had exchanged its home for sequentially larger shells. Each time, it cajoled its critics into relocating as well.

  What do they say? the small monster asked. About your art?

  Sometimes they say: Good enough.

  Other times?

  You’re a hack who couldn’t draw a straight line with a sea pen and swordfish.

  Which one? the small monster said, eyeing the tufts on its shell. I’ll eat it for you.

  The anemones waved their stinging petals in threat.

  Sometimes they’re helpful. They’ll say: It’s crooked. Left corner’s low.

  Where did you find them?

  Tidepools are full of them. These days, everyone’s a critic. The clawed creature sighed. Hard to find ones with discernment, though. No one values an arts curriculum.

  Have you gone far into the sea?

  The clawed creature waved vaguely. A bit. Maybe. They’re discussing the merits of formal education.…

  Are there sea monsters?

  The clawed creature did not respond, lost in reverie, or else an absorbing conversation. The small monster waited for a polite interval, then huffed its seal-smelling breath over the flowery shell. Indignant, the anemones snapped shut.

  Ah, sea monsters. Deep down, yes. Deeper than you’ll ever go, where the water presses with the weight of a mountain. I met vast and insatiable appetites there. Hungry lights in the dark. A bristling of teeth. I should have been a pair of ragged claws.…

  The small monster said, You were not afraid of me.

  The clawed creature patted the small monster.

  I was inspired. I saw a canvas for my art!

  So they will not hunt me from the sea.

  Never, the clawed creature said. They live in the deepest waters.

  Then I will watch the woods, the small monster said.

  * * *

  Since the day the smallest monster had found them, one particular battle seemed inevitable. When at last a familiar form emerged from the trees, the small monster felt the tightness in its chest unspool, loop after loop unwinding into something loose and useful.

  You should leave, it told the clawed creature. To be safe.

  I won’t go far, the clawed creature said.

  That’s what you think.

  As delicately as it could, the small monster picked up the clawed creature in its teeth, then hurled it seaward.

  At the dappled edge of the woods, where the sand began, the small monster’s gold-beaked parent set its talons, frilled, and roared.

  The small monster sat at the shifting verge of the sea, with an infinitude of unknown monsters at its back and one it knew well in front of it. The small monster took a breath of salt air. Then it roared as well, and the waves roared with it.

  You are mine, the gold-beaked monster said.

  I am not.

  Who fed you meat while you mewled? Who carved up lions and brought down falcons for you?

  Who fed on me when the hunt went ill?

  The parent’s scale-sheathed shoulders trembled and chimed. It had grown lean and rangy in the small monster’s absence. Who birthed you? Who gave you life and breath?

  You, the small monster said. Then you took.

  I’ve come for what belongs to me.

  I am nobody’s.

  I was kind to you!

  The gold-beaked monster loped across the sand.

  Once more, the small monster turned to take the blow. Its parent’s talons skidded over gold.

  Tricks, it hissed. You forget. I shelled turtles and sucked out the flesh for you.

  With its second blow, it sent a king’s ransom flying.

  With the third, it broke glass and scale and skin.

  The small monster hunched down. It smelled ichor and roots and damp earth again.

  Why?

  I bore you to feed me when I am old.

  The hooked beak dug into the small monster’s side, ripping and swallowing. The small monster shrieked, as it had shrieked before, when it was helpless and wriggling in the den under the hill.

  But the sound of its shriek was different now, deeper and louder than the sounds a small thing might make.

  For the small monster was no longer small.

  It felt its strength and cunning then, its size and power and cruelty. It whirled upon the gold-beaked monster.

  No. I will not. Never again.

  Talons flashing, the gold-beaked monster flew at the no-longer-small monster and was promptly tossed on its crown of horns. Foam and ichor flecked the parent’s red sides as it rose.

  They clashed, the wet sand churning beneath them, and the no-longer-small monster threw its parent a second time.

  You’re nothing, the gold-beaked monster said. What good is your life? Give me it. It’s mine.

  They circled each other on the tidal zone. The no-longer-small monster watched the sand sink under its parent’s feet, and saw how each step began with a slight stumble. And when the gold-beaked monster struck, swift as an eel, it was hooked and flipped. The no-longer-small monster fell upon the gold-beaked monster, gouging and goring. It tasted its parent’s ichor and flesh.

  Then the no-longer-small monster stepped back.

  As the gold-beaked monster righted itself, ribboned skin trailing in the tide, ichor dropping like green rain, it keened and cringed.

  It’ll grow back, the no-longer-small monster said. Now leave.

  The gold-beaked monster retreated, limping. When it reached the woods, it glared hunger and hatred over its shoulder. Then it was gone.

  * * *

  Fog rolled in like a dream, snagging in the bristled tops of the trees, smudging distance and detail.

  The clawed creature said from the once-small monster’s head: Family can be difficult.

  Says someone who started as plankton.

  Hey! My worst critics live upstairs.

  The air was wet and white, and the monster’s laughter stirred up eddies in it. They made a brave and merry island in the thick nothingness.

  Then they heard the sound of some tremendous thing breaching and collapsing back into the sea.

  O, wonder, the clawed creature said to itself.

  Again came the fathomless, unfathomable sound.

  The fog was too dense to see what moved in the dark and swirling waters offshore.

  They listened in silence to the great thing leaping: a rush of water, a crash. Then there was a leap without end. They strained to hear the missing sound.

  Out of the
wisping fog swam a vastness. Its wings undulated in an invisible current. Its mouth, broad enough to swallow the once-small monster, sucked thirstily at the empty air. It steered itself in an arc with a whip of a tail.

  As it drifted overhead, two large black eyes looked down, full of ancient indifference.

  A very long time later—or so it seemed to the once-small monster, who had held its breath—they heard the distant boom of the vast winged thing returning to the sea.

  Sea monster? the once-small monster said.

  Sea monster, the clawed creature said, clasping its own claws.

  The world is stranger than I thought.

  It always is.

  * * *

  By the time the third trouble came sniffing about, the once-small monster was prepared. The clawed creature had layered it with glass and nacre, then with gold, and finally with bones plucked from a great fish that had washed up dead. The bones curved up the small monster’s sides and made a double row of spines.

  In those three layers of armor, the once-small monster cut an extraordinary figure. The wolfish, tawny thing that slunk between the trees did not recognize its quarry. It snapped its jaws, perplexed.

  Then the sea wind brought the scent of the once-small monster to the woods. The tawny thing, whose hide was now peppered with gray, threw back its head and bayed in greeting.

  Old friend, the tawny thing said. It’s been too long.

  You have terrible taste in friends, the clawed creature said. It slipped from the once-small monster’s shoulder into the sea.

  This shore is mine, the once-small monster said. You may not hunt here.

  For as long as this shore is yours, I’ll not hunt here, the tawny thing agreed.

  Are you passing through?

  Following a trail, the tawny thing said, laughing softly, as if it had told a great joke. Three trails, in fact. All running and jumbled together.

  Why do you laugh?

  Because if the three had lived peaceably, in this place of plumpest bears and deer—if they offered battle with three sets of claws, beak, and teeth—I’d never have won.