Pearl Before Swine Prologue

I cannot see, cannot hear, not by the usual definitions of those words, but I possess an awareness that sets me apart from the other rocks. I am a speck, a spark cradled in the sand’s coarse embrace. It churns, ebbs, and flows, heavy, then not.

Grains scrape my sides, and I capture them, consume them. The circle of my being pushes outward, slow but steady.

Light waltzes with the water, clothed in warmth, and shadow herds the dance, its voice an empty chill. I like them both, the balance, the variance, and as my awareness expands, so does the minutia of those differences.

For a moment, light strokes my sides with a slow touch, and my spirit leans into that weightless hand. It taps in rapid bursts, and I want to move with it.

Why do all things move except me?

As a speck, I did not understand motion, but as I catch up in size to the pebbles that litter the sea floor, I see it everywhere, and I want it with the same want owned by the electric things above me.

They fulfill their wants, long, lean bodies dashing to and fro somewhere between me and the light. They work with the water, a give and take, chaos always imbued with some level of grace.

The longer I watch, the more layers I perceive. Water does not keep a set form, sloshing and twisting, two droplets rarely meeting again. Yet, though they bend, these creatures have a limited range of shapes, and within their basic outline, all movement is organized—a beating heart, a flapping gill, a ticking mind.

Do I move on the inside like that?

I imagine pushing against this prison formed of my own body and swimming toward them. Though my round sides do not leave the sea floor, I touch the creatures and sink into their thoughts. It is another sea, and I flow with its waves.

Is this freedom? Is this enough?

The want burns, ever more hungry, and I clutch at the liquid thoughts around me. If I can stay in here, does that mean I belong? Can I travel with these fish when they leave, see what lies beyond my dimple in the sand?

Energy slides through the cracks of my fantasy hands until I hold nothing, and I jump to the next fish. And the next. And the next. They are all the same.

Why am I alone? Are there others like me somewhere? Can they show me how to do this right?

Light flees from a large shadow, and ice shoots through my small fish. The feeling pushes them faster than I have ever witnessed them move, but for the one weighed down by my attention, the shove is too weak. The larger creature draws it in, and the cold flame of fear explodes into a hot, sticky sensation.

Water constantly rips and crashes, never the same shape from moment to moment, heedless of its shifting form, but for this solid creature, tearing apart hurts.

I flinch away, a new flare growing beside the desire, but it dies as quickly as it arrived. The prey’s pain does not last, and everything the creature had been soaks into the clockwork of the larger fish, filling in its missing pieces. Warm, soft satisfaction blossoms in the surviving animal, equal to the pain of before.

Balance and difference, like with the light and shadow. This is right, never too much of one or the other.

Where do I fit? The fish consume each other as I consume the sand, but I am not sand. It does not feel, yet I do, so what am I?

As always, the fish swims away, and I cannot follow. Where do they come from? Where do they go?

I continue to capture the only thing I can until I am the largest of the pebbles within my range of awareness, and as I grow, so does the breadth of my senses. More exists above the water, the domain of air. It does not move like ocean or sand. What would it feel like rubbing against my sides? Softer? Faster?

A bird soars through the currents of the sky and dives, spearing a fish before taking off again.

Notice me! Carry me away like that.

The birds come again and again, and none hear me.

The sand trembles in rhythmic crescendos beneath weight I cannot fathom, and water makes way for humongous paws. The sea floor squelches and dips, and finally, I move.

For the first time, light caresses my underside, but it lasts less than a moment as I roll, not far. The sand catches me again, an abrasive but gentle-handed prison guard. This imprint is larger than mine was. As the beast that made it splashes along the shore, chasing fish trapped in tidepools, I wonder at its size.

Can I grow that big? Other creatures will have to notice me then.

I gobble sand as quickly as I can, but I do not seem to expand any faster.

Why am I alone? Why does no one see me? Do I even exist?

Watching the other beings—fish of the sea, beasts of the land, birds of the sky—and experiencing the world through them brings something similar to the satisfaction they feel when they fulfill their wants. Yet, it is incomplete, one raindrop to quench a drought while laden storm clouds wait above, just out of reach, crackling with the thunder of my frustration.

Then, it happens. The sand shifts as it so often has beneath the feet of many creatures, but none have been like this. Light describes a face rippling through the water, eyes nowhere near as round as a fish’s, a short, pointed nose, a wide mouth, and a strong chin. He is looking at me.

A hand cuts through the surface, and fingers scoop beneath my curves. His touch is tentative as if he fears I will break, but firm, not allowing the retreating waves to haul me away. Fear nips within me. How many times have I witnessed prey’s capture? Will he consume me? Will it hurt?

It will mean becoming a part of him. In that way, I can leave this place.

Will it still be me, though? Will I still experience it?

I rise and at last taste the air. It is cold and bright, weightless and smooth. I barely feel it at all as he pulls me closer to ever-widening eyes.

His thoughts are an ocean deeper than any creature’s, a chasm stretching further than all the others combined, and as he stares at me, that sea within him fills with wonder. Excitement swells and undulates the electric waters.

Can he feel my emotions like I feel his? Can he hear me? Am I like him?

Vibrations pour from his mouth, and he runs from the water, showing me to others. They form a cacophony. Is this how they communicate, by wild gestures and discordant noises?

None of them can hear me either.

He drops me in a silken bag, and light shrinks as he pulls the top closed, but still I listen, studying the vibrations. They form patterns. Some repeat.

“Sea stone.”

“Pearl.”

This is me. This is what they call me, and as their mouths mold the sounds, they think of the depths of a night sky, the radiance of a thousand sunsets. That is what they see in my curved sides, and it saturates me with a feeling that bubbles and laps at my circumference. My body is still a prison, but when they look upon me, they experience such wonder, their gaze lost within me as if they can see my thoughts.

Why can they not? These bipedal beings are better than the fish, the beasts, and the birds. Am I better than them because I can do something they still cannot? Or are their nuanced noises simply too advanced for me? How I wish I could at least hum. I want to join the conversation blaring all around.

We move. He walks with an uneven gait. He rests. He repeats the process, and the further he travels, the duller the sounds. Tall, slow-thinking creatures line his path, amused by the chirping birds that flit through their branches.

I am torn between two emotions, sitting in the palm of fear while fascination shines upon me. Each time he takes a step, I traverse new land. With every stride, I notice something I did not before, and I never want this to end.

Yet, his hunger grows, and so fear refuses to release me. Why would he carry me if not to satisfy that void within him? Why does he wait? His middle growls. Can he understand it?

On top of this, a wrongness surrounds him, as if he, too, has curved sides extending in all directions. It incites all who can to flee. Wary birds watch from far above, and the trees whisper that he does not belong.

At long last, he stops and kneels, pulls me from his pocket, and carefully divests me of the bag. Light is weak and slanted, but I am so starved of its touch, I rejoice at its return, tugging it around me like the cloth that wraps this man. It is a rebellious and difficult material, spearing off in disjointed rays, and my bearer stares, awe boiling over.

The emotion shivers through me, and my giggle ripples the light. His lips peel back, revealing teeth, and I tighten my grip on the glow. This is it. He will eat me.

But he does not. Spikes of fear pin him to the ground, cushioned by hope, as shadows shift and part. An entirely different being approaches, and every spark within me stills. The new presence washes over and through me, heavier than a whole ocean. Every mote of my attention is captured and drawn in.

“Terra,” the man whispers, and the mighty being acknowledges the address with an inclined face. While similar in form to the man’s, Terra’s features comprise the sharpest of angles and smoothest of planes as if chiseled in stone and metal instead of molded of clay.

He is a tempest, powerful and chaotic yet calm at his core, every part swirling by his design. The man chatters to him, and when Terra speaks, it is thunder. The rock walls shake, but my fear has vanished. Though loud and deep, his voice is akin to luminescence and warmth. The man trembles, but I want to feel it again.

I toy with my cloak of light, weaving it into bold flickers and dark lulls. Will he notice?

As the man lowers his head and lifts his hands, Terra’s gaze falls on me. Gold glints in burnt brown irises, matching the twisted walls of this cave. The corners of his eyes and lips pull back as he steps forward, hoof clicking against rock and arm extended. The man’s fingers tilt, and I roll into Terra’s grasp.

Though I had nearly filled the man’s palm, to Terra, I am a grain of sand just barely too large to sink between the stitches of his ruddy skin. Giddiness hums within me, and I wave my light faster. Keep looking at me.

If they stare for long enough, can I use this to communicate?

Terra speaks again. Curiosity shimmers across his edges.

I recognize some of the man’s reply. “Sea stone.”

Several sensations pass through Terra, but like him, they are so immense and quick, I glimpse only their corners before they are gobbled by his tranquil center. Shock. Regret. Hope. Wonder.

Am I the cause of these feelings? Does he know what I am, where I should be?

Now that I have seen his core open its mouth, I perceive its cracks. As the man leaves, bursting with satisfaction, I find something too familiar in Terra. The feeling of being unseen, trapped, alone.

Why would he feel this way? The man clearly knew of him and traveled a great distance to interact with him. He is leaving now, but he will return. The fish always returned, and they did not even know I was there.

“Ah, it is a feeling you know.”

Again, everything within me freezes. What is this? A thought that is not mine. It is his, yet it is meant for me.

I sculpt a reply, scraping its outline clean. “I have always been alone. But you can hear me?”

He chuckles. “Because we are the same, you and I, in more than just our loneliness.”

“Why? You are not alone.”

He strides further into the cave, and I revel in the rhythmic clack of his four hooves, in the breeze that brushes my sides and tousles his russet hair beneath his curved horns. It means we are moving, and though this motion is not in result of my own will, I feel I can add a “yet” to that sentiment. Someday I will move because I wish it.

We pass other creatures, small things with fur and tiny insects who ignore us like my fish. Others formed of stone pause in their work as if awaiting a command that does not come, faces turned toward us always.

“What are they?”

“Golems. Creatures of Essence. They live because I wish it.”

I languish in the feel of having an answer, even if I do not fully understand it. It is a start, and I hold it even closer than the light. But the satisfaction fades quickly, trampled by a myriad of more questions.

“What are we?”

Terra releases something between a sigh and a hiss. “I am the Essence of the Land. Stone and soil belong to me, and you are full of questions, as is typical of one so small, I suppose.”

I am not only full of questions. I am overflowing. Is that also normal?

He waits for me to ask another, expectation pulsing against my sides. The spaces between those beats hold my attention—snapshots of emptiness so vast, my wonderings could never fill it.

A statement attempts to instead, an echo of something I have already said. “You are not alone.”

He stops. We stop, and his hand rises to bring me level with gigantic brown eyes.

“No, I am not alone as some would define it, but everything that rises, falls, and everything that comes, leaves.”

Continued in Chapter 1: The Essence of the Sea

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