Only when Spio had returned to his original distance did the whale’s eye return to me.
“Stay there,” I said, and swam out to Spio to grab the blade.
Slowly, I returned to the whale’s immense tail, which was the size of a kitchen table. I followed the languid up-and-down motion for a moment before reaching gingerly for the net.
The whale didn’t protest.
I began slicing the ropes, careful not to pull.
The whale stopped moving. I paused, ready to flee, but felt no aggression. He drifted upwards until he brushed the surface. The distant hiss of his spout sounded as he took a breath.
I kept slicing while the whale lingered, resting limply while drawing long breaths. He cast the occasional leery glance back to Spio, as though to make sure he wasn’t going to swim closer.
“There’s one explanation for this,” said Spio. “You have secret whale whispering powers and should be captured and studied.”
“He’s like this because he’s injured.”
“I’m pretty sure injured whales are even more crazy than ordinary ones.”
“He knows I’m trying to help.”
“No, he clearly likes you better than me. Have you considered donating your body to science?”
“Spio, there’s nothing special about me. I’m just …”
I lifted a shoulder. What was I? Patient? Gentle? Compassionate? I’d proven to be anything but those things these past weeks.
Still, Eriana came to mind. My own ancestor had been known as a charmer of animals. She had a way of communicating with them, a gift unparalleled by anyone. That was what led her to control the leviathan. Empathy for all living things was her greatest strength.
Maybe I had that part of Eriana in me.
I kept sawing the ropes until the tail was free, working quickly while trying not to pull and cause the orca more pain.
The whale drifted up and down with the waves, so limp he might have been dead.
“Nearly there, baby.”
I moved to his face. Between his jaws, each tooth was the size of my thumb. The ropes here were worse, embedded in his nose. It would be painful to pull away—but worse to leave it.
I focused on cutting the ropes until the moment came.
The whale seemed to know freedom was close, because he began swimming again, slowly but with more confidence.
I sped up, cutting quickly. And then the only thing left to do was pull the rope away from his nose.
I steeled myself, both hands wrapped around the rope. I shot forwards.
The rope caught a little as it pulled from the whale’s flesh. He groaned and wriggled away.
The entire fishing net, all tangles and white buoys, hung like a corpse from my fists. The whale was free.
With a burst of agility, he whirled to face me. I winced. A flash of panic crossed my mind as I wondered if the jaws were about to open.
For a long moment, the whale and I were nose-to-nose. I stayed perfectly still, pulse pounding, terrified that the slightest movement would cause him to snap.
Gently, he closed the distance between us. I blinked as our faces touched.
Then he turned, and his large, glassy eye stared at me, unblinking.
