All Saints in the Shallows

Weathered faces made of dampened wood and bleached stone stared silently from the water toward the shore. They never moved or spoke, and no one ever assumed they would. The only sound that could be heard around them was the lapping water and the blustery wind from old and cold Lake Vern. But sometimes, the wind carried a voice that many called the chant of the Water-Saints.

The carved faces of the Water-Saints had kept their quiet vigil for many seasons, and the oldest had been there since before anyone had ever lived nearby. But new statues were added through the years which made the crowd standing on the shoreline large, they numbered four hundred and thirteen now. Some were placed to honor the ancestors, some were set up to honor holy oracles and wise-folk. And yet a few others, seven of stone which were bigger and older than the rest, had lost all meaning save legend. But slowly the small town which popped up on the northern beach of Lake Vern became known as All-Saints-In-The-Shallows, and eventually the shorter Alsains, since many creatures came to stand by the shore and pray to the Gods in the presence of “All the Saints.”

The locals knew the legends of the Water-Saints well, though which legend you believed depended on who told you it. The mice who settled just above the nearby sand dunes knew the voice of the saints well, and said that the high and low pitches sang in the air like a poem from the Gods. For the frogs who regularly used the waters, they said that the Kayiman of the Lake was both a protector and a predator, and beyond the Water-Saints was the Kayiman’s domain, where diving frogs would tread with care. Vole and shrew families who moved in later had their own tales of the oldest saints being closest to the Gods and which statues to pray to in times of light or heavy need. These stories mingled during fireside stories and seasonal festivals when the townsfolk of Alsains would trade and feast together on berries, nuts, fish, fried bugs, and roots.

Of everyone in Alsains, kids were the most curious. Three young boys all but a season or two old were wandering on the wet sands near the Saints one dreary and boring sunless day. They had no school and the harvest was done, so they were making the rounds through the neighborhood and had passed in front of where the quiet statues kept their permanent watch. Of the three, the small yellow-white mouse Jake Hayworm was the boldest. He bounced down the beach with the energy of a hungry locust. Following close behind was Oribi MacOpa, a bright green bow legged frog with a nervous disposition. Tumbling after them was the plump and downy grey furball of the dull but cheery vole boy Vinny Bursley.

Jake, Oribi, and Vinny were always together for days like today when they didn’t have to trudge to the fields to help their families bring in food, or have to practice grammar and languages. A cold wind blew off the beach and the three shivered as they ran. They kept running as the wind blew but suddenly Jake stopped.

Jake’s ears twitched. Back and forth they fluttered as Oribi and Vinny circled him. “Quiet” Jake whispered “can you hear that?”

Vinny shrugged and said “Nope!”

Oribi muttered “Whadya hear? I didn’t hear anything…” with his wide eyes swiveling.

Jake whispered again and motioned “quiet!! I can’t hear it with you chattering…” Jake had the best ears of the three, but needed to focus all the same. “There” he finally pointed out toward the Saints.

Oribi and Vinny looked in that direction still confused.

Jake said “it’s one of the Saints, I can hear a voice coming from it.”

Vinny chortled. “Jake! Hah, the Saints don’t speak, you’re playing a game with us.”

“You could be mistaken, it might be the wind” Oribi said.

“Whatever it is it’s coming from one of the Old Saints,” Jake said. As he twisted his ears he triangulated it. “It’s coming from Old Greenbeard.”

“What’s it sound like?” asked Oribi who could just make out the sound.

Jake said “it’s like a whistle, but soft. It almost sounds like Old Greenbeard is asking for help.”

“Huh?” Vinny mumbled “how can Old Greenbeard ask for help?, he’s supposed to help us!”

“It’s just what I’m hearing,” Jake said. “Might be nothing like you said.”

“Let’s say a prayer and go, the wind is chilling and drying me” Oribi said.

“Sure” Jake and Vinny agreed. They spoke their catechisms together and repeated the townsfolk's sacred phrase: “May the Saints watch us and preserve us forever.” The three friends went on and paid the whistling cry no greater attention. At least until that night.

The three friends had made it back to their homes in time for supper only to be told by their parents that the MacOpa Clan was hosting the whole town for a feast at their keep. The MacOpa Keep was a wattle-and-daub tower and ring-wall filled two feet deep with lukewarm water. The bowl of water was covered by a wired and mesh roof to preserve the heat and block the light from their small fires and amber-lights. The place was decorated for a party, and the main hall on the second floor of the tower was filled to the brim with partygoers.

The Laird of the clan: Fingil MacOpa, who told everyone to call him “Big Fingil,” sat at the center of the room with his guests of honor:the Mice and Vole thains of the village, elected by their cousins as the most wise or bold of their families, the three mouse elders who ran the temple, and the presiding councilors of the shrew community. Alongside them were Fingil’s siblings and cousins of the clan, all big and strong frogs of green and pale brown complexion. The Clan’s leaders were always the largest, and often the women controlled the clan’s business, but Fingil was a smart man among the frogs, and enjoyed lively debate. After the first course of the meal: fried fly bread with blackberry filling served with Almond-Milk rum and plum-wine, he sat with the three boys and the three mouse elders discussing what they had heard in the morning.

Laird Fingil was fascinated that Jake heard a sound coming from the Water-Saints. The three mouse elders were skeptical but Jake stood by what he heard. “It sounded like it was saying help: heeeeeeeeeellpp.”

“Pah” said Elder Baleg brushing his beard and whiskers. “You’re nephew is lost in the dark Iskod”

Elder Iskod Hayworm, the great uncle of Jake, shook his head and said “My brother's grandson got my brother's ears, and remember how he heard the viper in the vineyard and slew it before it ate anyone! Young Jake is no fool either, and would not lie about what he heard.”

Elder Raymor chuckled “I remember Fitch, he WAS a fool Iskod! He jumped on that vipers head and lost his two small fingers to the serpent’s maw before he killed it. That foolishness is in your whole family.”

Elder Iskod grumbled “You’re the fool Raymor, or have you not read the scripture where it says that he of stout heart and great kindness shall inherit the Earth?”

“Of course I have!” uttered Raymor with a raspy voice, “and you haven’t read the one that says “The Gods help those who help themselves! Old greenbeard needs no help my boy” he said facing the three boys.

Jake and Oribi were attentive while Vinny was enjoying another piece of fly and blackberry bread. Jake was deferential “Yes Elder, of course. Sorry for being foolish, Uncle Iskod.”

“Jake, you don’t need to apologize, when the weak need help, you answer the call! And when the strong need help, you ask how!”

Oribi was more cautious in his response: “but which one is a Saint? Strong or Weak? And what if it is against Kayiman?”

“Well that’s up to you to decide isn’t it my boy?” asked Laird Fingil, who was Oribi’s uncle. “Do you think you can take on Kayiman alone? And do you think the Saint’s ask for help without need?” Oribi shrugged nervously “I don’t know.” “Neither do I” added Jake and Vinny through a stuffed face.

Just then, the doors to the dinner hall slammed open and a green cloud blustered in with frightening speed and strength. Several dinner guests were knocked over, and all smelled a noxious fume that was not poisonous but utterly putrid.

Jake and Oribi felt around the room nearly blinded by the smoke, and Vinny rolled on the floor in a flummoxed way. The three found each other and coughed, and all three could only hear a hiss: “Heeeellllp, Heeeeelppp, Heeellllp me freeeee.”

The sound repeated for a moment and they almost thought they saw old greenbeard walking toward them. Then Oribi shook his head and remembered the shape of his Uncle’s back and knew it was him.

Laird Fingil jumped from his seat and began shouting: “what’s happened what’s happened!! Are the cooks burning my house down?!”

One of the MacOpa matriarchs, Fingil’s Aunt Diverga shouted in reply “it’s Kayiman! We tried to divert him but one of our bombs missed!”

“Blast those kids! AIM STRAIGHT!” cried Fingil as he hopped from the hall and out to the battlements to look, leaving the guests to collect themselves in safety. Jake, Oribi, and Vinny were dazed but coming to. They each helped one of the mouse elders to their feet. Elder Iskod brushed off his black cloak and grumbled “a bad bad sign. Pray to Old Greenbeard my boys. If he’s asking for help, you should see what he wants. And may Kayiman’s passing tail cleanse those in his path.”

Elder Raymor laughed and added: “remember the gods help those who help themselves! But please boys, help ME up to the battlements, I wish to see the old lizard before he shoves off again.”

The boys and the elder mice followed on foot where Big Fingil, Diverga, and the other leaders of Clan MacOpa were standing as they watched Kayiman’s retreat. The six had made it in time to watch the stink bombs divert the great one back to the lake. Kayiman’s head could not be seen but the scales on his back looked like armor and the fat long tail made a divot in the dirt before the grassy sand bank that blocked the village from the water. The moon reflected dimly through the clouds as Kayiman dipped over the hill and back into the shallows, avoiding the part of the water where the statues stood quietly. All quiet except for the silent whispering squeak of “heeeeeeelp.”

After a fitful sleep that night the three boys were up before the sun. Jake and Oribi pulled Vinny out of bed and the three walked down to the shore by the Saints. “We’ve got to go see what’s up with Old Greenbeard. I heard it last night too” Oribi nervously croaked.

“So did I” said Vinny with a yawn. “But what can we do?”

“We can go out and check him, make sure Kayiman hasn’t taken a bite out of him or such! I heard what I heard” said Jake. “He said: Help me free.”

“Maybe he wants to float?” Vinny asked.

“Maybe he does,” Oribi said “he has been there for so long. He and the giant family were here before the village.”

“The question is how?” said Vinny. “Oribi is a good swimmer but better than us and also Kayiman is still out there. And Greenbeard is at the edge of the Saints in the deep.”

“Don’t worry young lads!” Said a squeaky voice from behind them. It was a Shrew fisherman with a pointed snout and beady eyes carrying his canoe to the water. “I be fishing early near the Saints every mornin, and yer uncles told me of the predicament young Hayworm.” Jake smiled and exclaimed: “so Uncle Isk does believe me!”

“Aye that he do” smiled the Shrew, and he pointed behind him. “Plus the Laird and the MacOpas will be not long behind to see what’s up as well, and to make sure old Kayiman is out in his waters.”

So the three boys helped the Shrew shove his canoe into the water and climbed aboard. They helped him paddle and made speed through the shallows and the Saints. Old statues of Mice, Rats, Frogs, and the odd Squirrel of revered memory passed them by until they reached the back. As the water got deeper so too did the statues get taller. A group of seven unlike the others stood at the edge of the deep lake. Old Greenbeard was the most girthy and rotund. He stood next to Mama Verna and the four “little giants”: two with short hair and two with long hair. And the last was a tall pole capped with a round bronze globe with circular windows. It was turned into the lighthouse for Alsains and for nearby Frogmorton when the villagers found an ancient Amberlight of great power, and was called “Saint Bronzy.”

The Shrew fisher turned his boat around the side of Old Greenbeard and said “I’m thinkin this might be your voice of the Saint!”

The three boys saw a chalk white collection of long sticks hanging out of a hole in the back of Old Greenbeard. It wasn’t a big hole, but the sticks, like bones but the bones of a great beast if that, we’re hanging out.

Jake was shocked and said “Oribi, call your uncle, and tell him to get my uncle out here too!”

“But what about Kayiman? If I croak out here he may come!”

“Nay” said the Fisher with a squeaky laugh “Kayiman has bigger fish to catch, you’ll be like a fly buzzing to him. There he be out there taking in the sun!”

The Shrew pointed to the floating giant in the distance, nearly one hundred yards away, reflecting off the rising sun. Oribi croaked in confidence. It wasn’t long before another canoe with Elder Iskod came, surrounded by over a dozen swimming frogs.

Elder Iskod said, “boys you have done a good thing. These are the bones of a giant. They must be set free.”

The boys and the frogs got to work peeling away a bigger hole from the back of Old Greenbeard and pulling the giant bones into the water. One of the bones was a skull, round and broad jawed like no skull the boys had seen, but Elder Iskod and Laird Fingal nodded in recognition for what it was. All the diggers said a prayer when the last bone was out, and stood inside hollow Saint Greenbeard as the sun went up. Kayiman swam away when the bones fell in the water, and Jake said “I can’t hear a sound anymore. I suppose we helped Old Greenbeard then.”

“Yes, my boy” Elder Iskod said. “You did.”

And the beasts were happy as they watched the bones of one of the last humans, the man who built the giant Saints as a memorial to his dying family, drift freely out into the blue-black depths of Lake Vern where Kayiman and other gators slept.

The Saints in the shallows stood silently as they always had, except for the voices that carried on the wind, and no one expected that they would ever make a sound again.