dark water using their powerful eyes and deadly appendages.
But the water here was too shallow. The shoal had been unable to retreat to a comfortable depth, and most of the massive horde had grown agitated. They were accustomed to the nearly bottomless depths of the deep ocean. Yet the shoal had ventured into shallower and shallower water in recent weeks, following its collective instincts.
And its hunger.
For days, those assembled in the shoal had found little to satiate their unmatched desire to feed. They had happened upon some of the smaller deepwater prey on which they normally fed—anchovies nearer the surface and lanternfishes farther down—but the schools had been small and many in the group needed much more sustenance to survive.
Always the water temperature had remained relatively constant and the directional currents had facilitated the shoal’s migration. Each evening, the shoal had risen with the upwelling of cool waters to feed closer to shore. Each morning, the shoal had retreated to the depths farther offshore, following a sinking eddy current of cold water making its way back toward the abyss. Always the shoal pushed itself in the same direction. As it searched for food, rising and descending in its never-ending cycle, still it continued purposefully in a single lateral direction, drawn away from the place where it had originated.
The members of the shoal gradually calmed when the day began to wane and the bright sunlight from above faded toward black, as another daily cycle progressed into night. The twilit water above was becoming much darker and more familiar, and no longer pained their eyes. They began slowly rising along the steep slope of the bottom, toward shore, to feed.
The largest females moved near the head of the fleet. They would be the first to feed when prey was discovered.
These females had lived longer than most in the shoal. They had attained their great body size by managing to stay alive longer than the others around them, and by being more aggressive than the others at taking prey. This fearless aggression had yielded them more food, which had turned into greater body mass. But it had come at a cost.
The largest of these females had only one eye. A scar of wrinkled flesh covered the place where the other had once been, between the smooth length of her body and her set of appendages. Evidence of past battles for survival blemished her otherwise smooth skin.
One of her sisters, nearly her own size, moved through the water alongside her. Bearing even more scars than the one-eyed female, she had lost the tip of one of her two broad fins when a shark or swordfish had nipped it off when she had been younger and smaller. She bore countless scars along her body, and when she grasped at her prey, she did so without one of her limbs. It was a useless stump of flesh, far shorter than the others since one of her own kind had torn it off.
As the dominant females coursed through the mass of their peers, moving slowly toward the front, their wide, unblinking eyes caught a flash of silver in the darkness above them. Then another.
Prey.
In an instant they changed their body shapes and colors, no longer smooth, pale torpedoes meant for travel but instead fierce red blossoms that opened to expose not petals, but tools meant for violence. They uncoiled their weapons and thrust their bodies upward toward the prey, single-minded of focus.
They intended to kill.
A member near the front emitted an excited series of brief flashes of light, which appeared green in the nutrient-rich water. The light blinded its silvery prey as it lashed out and ensnared the fish before the others could reach it. The one-eyed female arrived at the stricken prey an instant later, thrusting her own weapons through the water and digging their small teeth into the fish as it thrashed in the dark water. Dim light from the distant surface glinted off silver scales as it desperately attempted to free itself.
The fish
But the water here was too shallow. The shoal had been unable to retreat to a comfortable depth, and most of the massive horde had grown agitated. They were accustomed to the nearly bottomless depths of the deep ocean. Yet the shoal had ventured into shallower and shallower water in recent weeks, following its collective instincts.
And its hunger.
For days, those assembled in the shoal had found little to satiate their unmatched desire to feed. They had happened upon some of the smaller deepwater prey on which they normally fed—anchovies nearer the surface and lanternfishes farther down—but the schools had been small and many in the group needed much more sustenance to survive.
Always the water temperature had remained relatively constant and the directional currents had facilitated the shoal’s migration. Each evening, the shoal had risen with the upwelling of cool waters to feed closer to shore. Each morning, the shoal had retreated to the depths farther offshore, following a sinking eddy current of cold water making its way back toward the abyss. Always the shoal pushed itself in the same direction. As it searched for food, rising and descending in its never-ending cycle, still it continued purposefully in a single lateral direction, drawn away from the place where it had originated.
The members of the shoal gradually calmed when the day began to wane and the bright sunlight from above faded toward black, as another daily cycle progressed into night. The twilit water above was becoming much darker and more familiar, and no longer pained their eyes. They began slowly rising along the steep slope of the bottom, toward shore, to feed.
The largest females moved near the head of the fleet. They would be the first to feed when prey was discovered.
These females had lived longer than most in the shoal. They had attained their great body size by managing to stay alive longer than the others around them, and by being more aggressive than the others at taking prey. This fearless aggression had yielded them more food, which had turned into greater body mass. But it had come at a cost.
The largest of these females had only one eye. A scar of wrinkled flesh covered the place where the other had once been, between the smooth length of her body and her set of appendages. Evidence of past battles for survival blemished her otherwise smooth skin.
One of her sisters, nearly her own size, moved through the water alongside her. Bearing even more scars than the one-eyed female, she had lost the tip of one of her two broad fins when a shark or swordfish had nipped it off when she had been younger and smaller. She bore countless scars along her body, and when she grasped at her prey, she did so without one of her limbs. It was a useless stump of flesh, far shorter than the others since one of her own kind had torn it off.
As the dominant females coursed through the mass of their peers, moving slowly toward the front, their wide, unblinking eyes caught a flash of silver in the darkness above them. Then another.
Prey.
In an instant they changed their body shapes and colors, no longer smooth, pale torpedoes meant for travel but instead fierce red blossoms that opened to expose not petals, but tools meant for violence. They uncoiled their weapons and thrust their bodies upward toward the prey, single-minded of focus.
They intended to kill.
A member near the front emitted an excited series of brief flashes of light, which appeared green in the nutrient-rich water. The light blinded its silvery prey as it lashed out and ensnared the fish before the others could reach it. The one-eyed female arrived at the stricken prey an instant later, thrusting her own weapons through the water and digging their small teeth into the fish as it thrashed in the dark water. Dim light from the distant surface glinted off silver scales as it desperately attempted to free itself.
The fish
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