A Song Beneath the Sands
The sands shimmered under the sun, golden particles winking like fissured jewels. Rae knelt by the clutch of eggs, her silhouette framed against the azure-blue horizon where the sea kissed the sky. Her hair—a cascade of sable waves streaked with copper—whipped against her bronzed skin in the trade winds, a ceremonial dance as ancient as her people. Her burnished leather tunic fit snug against her lithe frame, stitched with geometric patterns in turquoise and ochre, reflecting the culture of her ancestral island kingdom. Her boots, made from woven palm fibers and toughened with tortoiseshell inlays, crunched softly as she shifted her weight. Rae was sixteen, but her spirit carried centuries of history, tradition, and a quiet defiance that made her stand apart. She was the Turtle Keeper, blessed and bound to protect the sacred nakau eggs from both human greed and the wrath of an ever-angrier world.
The year was 2387, and the island of Kairomae floated precariously in the middle of the Pan-Equatorial Sea. Once a jewel in humanity's great aquaplanetic empire, Kairomae was now but one of the scattered Free Archipelagos that existed outside the jurisdiction of the sprawling urban-conurbations. Humanity had ascended beyond dystopias and utopias; now, it survived in fractured, desperate pockets, caught between the scars of environmental collapse and the technological remnants of a gilded age long gone.
Rae’s people—the Tanomari—endured because they listened. Listened to the songs of the wind, the stars, and the nakau—the ancient green sea turtles who had made her island their home before the first human foot had pressed into its soil. All Tanomari children grew up on turtle lore, stories of ethereal sea beasts whispering through their dreams. Of late, though, the dreams had grown darker. And Rae? Rae dreamed not of shells gliding through sunlight but of empty nurseries and empty oceans, of eggs that birthed only silence.
An Unearthed Warning
“One hundred twenty-nine eggs,” Rae murmured. Her voice was soft as she counted each egg in the shallow pit, her tanned fingers lightly brushing the sand away from the hard, pearly surfaces. It was the largest clutch she’d ever seen, but there was no joy in her heart. Her years as Turtle Keeper had taught her to listen, and the land itself screamed warnings now. The sand was far too warm—not the soft, cool warmth of afternoon, but the searing heat of solar overkill. She lifted a handful and let the grains drift through her fingers like grains in an hourglass.
Chenoa, Rae’s older sister, stood a few paces back with her arms crossed. Unlike Rae, Chenoa followed the seafarer’s path and wore a simple hemp jumpsuit striped with green, the color of the Tanomari fleet. “Tell me again why you bother.” Her voice betrayed frustration, though her expression softened as she watched Rae work. “Even the nakau can’t escape what the sun’s wrath has done.”
Rae ignored her, lips pressed into a thin line. “The hatchlings will come tonight,” she said instead. “The tide’s perfect, and the moon will be bright.” She didn’t add what gnawed in her mind, words from the elders: lately, no more males. This season, the sands had already birthed batches of all female hatchlings, damning the delicate gender balance on which the nakau depended.
“We need to save ourselves, Rae. Not the turtles.” Chenoa stepped forward and crouched beside her sister, her tone a plea. “What’s the point of being Keeper if everything is already lost?”
Rae’s amber eyes snapped up, locking on her sister’s. “Then let me be the one who doesn't give up long enough to find out.” Her voice was steady, as unwavering as the tide. Chenoa didn’t respond, but her silence was heavy with doubt.
The Awakening
Night descended with a mosaic of stars spilling across the heavens, their light fractured and enhanced by faint rings in the atmosphere—remnants of celestial debris from the geo-impact wars of centuries prior. Rae sat cross-legged at the edge of the rookery, lantern extinguished to let her eyes adjust to the moonlight. The air was alive with sound—the soft hiss of waves, the rush of wind, and the faint cries of distant korokoro birds.
Then, it began. A shudder in the sand, faint tremors traveling upward through Rae’s palms. She exhaled softly. The hatchlings were emerging.
One by one, they burst forth from their sandy shells, small, frantic bodies struggling against the weight of the earth above. Their dark, glistening eyes reflected the moonlight as they took their first awkward steps toward the sea. Rae whispered a Tanomari blessing under her breath, a prayer for survival, for resilience.
But something was wrong. Very wrong.
Instead of heading shoreward, where the iridescent sea waited to embrace them, many of the hatchlings scattered in every direction. Some looped aimlessly, confused. Others turned their tiny heads skyward as if seeking an answer in the stars. Rae bolted to her feet, heart pounding—she had never seen anything like this.
At first, she thought the hatchlings were merely disoriented, perhaps addled by the chaotic magnetic currents of the world. But then they began to... sing.
The sound was low, mournful—a vibration that trembled through her ribs, brushing against something ancient within her. The hatchlings keened in unison, their cries merging into a singular, haunting note that made the hairs on her arms stand on end. The earth beneath her seemed to pulse, its rhythms unsettling. Rae fell to her knees, unable to tear her eyes from the strange dance unfolding before her.
The Revelation
Chenoa came running, her boots crunching over the sands as worry twisted her brow. “Rae! What’s—” The words died in her throat as she saw the sea turtles, the strange light shimmering in their eyes like molten silver. Chenoa grabbed her sister’s arm. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” Rae whispered. But deep down, she feared she did.
The Tanomari’s myths spoke of a time when the nakau would cry, their song a harbinger of great change. Some said it would signal the end of humanity; others believed it would mark the beginning of a renewal. Rae didn’t know which to believe. All she knew was that the hatchlings’ song resonated with the fury of the sun and the heartbeat of the oceans. It touched something primal.
The sand began to quake harder, and the moonlight turned unearthly bright. Rae and Chenoa shielded their eyes as a crack like thunder split the air. When it passed, all was silent—except for the hatchlings, gliding toward the sea in perfect synchronization at last under the eerie glow of the fractured heavens.
“Was that... some kind of sign?” Chenoa whispered, more to herself than to Rae.
Rae’s lips curved into a grim line, her heart heavy but resolute. “Not a sign. A warning.”
And as the last turtle disappeared into the endless depths, Rae understood this truth: the world could end, or it could heal. The nakau had sung for both, and it was humanity who would have to decide which future they wanted to answer.
Genre
Dark fantasy with elements of environmental thriller.
The Source...check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: Climate Change is Turning Sea Turtles Female: Alarming Trends?
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