sorts of creatures that lived in it, and was very proud that it could exist as a solid, a liquid or a gas.
So, after a time, God decided to make it rain for forty days and forty nights, until the world was covered with water. Of course, this killed the majority of the things that lived on land. But as the water rose, a small number of those creatures discovered an ability they hadn’t known they had. After the water spilled from the banks of rivers and over the shorelines, after it rose above the roofs of houses and above the tallest trees, when thecreatures’ fingers could no longer hold the flotsam they’d clung to and the jetsam they’d grasped, they fell beneath the surface and their lungs made the decision for them. Pulling in water as an automatic nervous response, some of them discovered they could breathe it. These creatures, Aquatics believe, were God’s chosen. He had given them the ability to breathe the water, leaving all the others to perish.
And perish they did. Land creatures died by the billions. But the Hliðafgoð took up residence below the surface of the water and thrived. Then, after thousands of years, God allowed the waters to recede, exposing the land. God did this to test the Hliðafgoð. Since He had never taken away their ability to breathe air, He wanted to see which of His creatures were worthy of His amphibious gift—and which were not.
God had judged the land to be unworthy; those who were attracted to it, who would return to it, would be revealed as unworthy as well. This is why the Hliðafgoð had decided—or at least most of them had—to suffer as little contact with humans as possible. Humans were called
Siðri
, which literally translated means “prone to spit in the eye of God.”
While Aquatics believe that it’s a sin to breathe the air, it is a minor sin. Within Aquaticism, there is only one sin that is considered an act so blasphemous it is beyond forgiveness, and this is to die with air-filled lungs. This, Aquatics believe, curses your soul to wander disembodied and alone, unwatered and unforgiven for eternity.
But even worse, these damned souls retain all of their memories. They remember everyone they’ve ever loved and continue to love them just as strongly, if notmore so, than when they were alive. Their desire to be with them, to touch them or talk to them, remains eternally unsatisfied. In
Gofdeill
, the unwatered dead are called the
sála-glorsol-tinn
, which loosely translates to “famished souls.” It was from this fate that Aby hoped to save her mother.
What Aby had going for her was language. When she was still in public school, her mother had made her learn English. Looking back, Aby realized that her mother must have always suspected that she’d one day live unwatered, and had planned on taking her daughter with her. Although Aby’s accent remained thick, her vowels were pretty clear and the bulk of the language came back to her easily when she studied it.
Much harder for Aby to acquire were the skills needed to drive. It was easy to understand that the right pedal made the car go, the left made it stop, and it would travel in the direction she turned the steering wheel. More difficult to grasp was the idea that all motion would occur on the lateral plane, whether she was driving, walking or running. It was only after Pabbi suggested she imagine that every space she swam through, indoors or out, had a ceiling exactly as tall as she was that Aby began to understand. But it horrified her.
Aby was also skeptical of Pabbi’s advice that she would be able to steal a car by looking for its keys in the wheel well. She did not doubt the existence of cars, or of wheel wells, but the idea that anyone would be so cavalier with their keys seemed ludicrous. Devoted Aquatics, which Aby certainly was, believe that losing your keys not only predicts, but elicits mental illness. To lose one’s keys is the equivalent of losing one’s mind.
Even as she sat behind
So, after a time, God decided to make it rain for forty days and forty nights, until the world was covered with water. Of course, this killed the majority of the things that lived on land. But as the water rose, a small number of those creatures discovered an ability they hadn’t known they had. After the water spilled from the banks of rivers and over the shorelines, after it rose above the roofs of houses and above the tallest trees, when thecreatures’ fingers could no longer hold the flotsam they’d clung to and the jetsam they’d grasped, they fell beneath the surface and their lungs made the decision for them. Pulling in water as an automatic nervous response, some of them discovered they could breathe it. These creatures, Aquatics believe, were God’s chosen. He had given them the ability to breathe the water, leaving all the others to perish.
And perish they did. Land creatures died by the billions. But the Hliðafgoð took up residence below the surface of the water and thrived. Then, after thousands of years, God allowed the waters to recede, exposing the land. God did this to test the Hliðafgoð. Since He had never taken away their ability to breathe air, He wanted to see which of His creatures were worthy of His amphibious gift—and which were not.
God had judged the land to be unworthy; those who were attracted to it, who would return to it, would be revealed as unworthy as well. This is why the Hliðafgoð had decided—or at least most of them had—to suffer as little contact with humans as possible. Humans were called
Siðri
, which literally translated means “prone to spit in the eye of God.”
While Aquatics believe that it’s a sin to breathe the air, it is a minor sin. Within Aquaticism, there is only one sin that is considered an act so blasphemous it is beyond forgiveness, and this is to die with air-filled lungs. This, Aquatics believe, curses your soul to wander disembodied and alone, unwatered and unforgiven for eternity.
But even worse, these damned souls retain all of their memories. They remember everyone they’ve ever loved and continue to love them just as strongly, if notmore so, than when they were alive. Their desire to be with them, to touch them or talk to them, remains eternally unsatisfied. In
Gofdeill
, the unwatered dead are called the
sála-glorsol-tinn
, which loosely translates to “famished souls.” It was from this fate that Aby hoped to save her mother.
What Aby had going for her was language. When she was still in public school, her mother had made her learn English. Looking back, Aby realized that her mother must have always suspected that she’d one day live unwatered, and had planned on taking her daughter with her. Although Aby’s accent remained thick, her vowels were pretty clear and the bulk of the language came back to her easily when she studied it.
Much harder for Aby to acquire were the skills needed to drive. It was easy to understand that the right pedal made the car go, the left made it stop, and it would travel in the direction she turned the steering wheel. More difficult to grasp was the idea that all motion would occur on the lateral plane, whether she was driving, walking or running. It was only after Pabbi suggested she imagine that every space she swam through, indoors or out, had a ceiling exactly as tall as she was that Aby began to understand. But it horrified her.
Aby was also skeptical of Pabbi’s advice that she would be able to steal a car by looking for its keys in the wheel well. She did not doubt the existence of cars, or of wheel wells, but the idea that anyone would be so cavalier with their keys seemed ludicrous. Devoted Aquatics, which Aby certainly was, believe that losing your keys not only predicts, but elicits mental illness. To lose one’s keys is the equivalent of losing one’s mind.
Even as she sat behind
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