A Ripple for the River

Long ago in a distant land, there flowed a river. Around this river was a village that grew flax and made linen. The ripples used by the farmers were no ordinary tools. Each family had its own special ripple blessed by the river spirit and passed down as an heirloom.

Among these families was a man named Joss, a young farmer whose flax crop and linen weaving surpassed everyone in the village. His neighbors often praised him for his diligence and paid him handsomely for his linen.

Joss held a particular reverence for the river spirit. The old stories told of a benevolent being who put a piece of its soul within each ripple. Joss would often walk along the river’s edge with the ripple tied to his back, watching fish and birds and frogs scatter about as he passed by. His ripple would react to the river. The runes carved into its wooden surface would glow softly and the iron comb would shine like cut crystal. Whenever Joss lowered his ripple into the water, little silver fish would swim around it, and the hefty solid tool would appear fluid.

He had no doubt that the ripple was a product of the river itself, and he was greatly thankful for both the river and the tool. Sometimes, when Joss would sit very still at the river’s edge and let his ripple touch the water, he would swear he’d hear a voice. It was less than a whisper, barely a breath in his ear, but he was certain it was the river spirit. If he let himself imagine it, the little fish that surrounded his submerged ripple and brushed against his hands felt like soft brushes of the spirit’s hand.

His neighbors would call him a dreamer and wonder why he would constantly soak a wooden tool in the river, but they couldn’t deny the bounty of his crop.

But then one year, the snowmelt from the mountains didn’t make the river as full as it would usually get. The farmers knew how to prepare for the river to overflow its banks but were taken aback by how little the river changed. Joss especially was concerned and would stare into the water more often than usual.

“Something is wrong with the river,” he said.

His neighbors tried to reason with him. “Maybe the floods found a different route upstream.” “Maybe the snowmelt wasn’t as plentiful this year.” “Should you really worry so much when the river is still here?”

But Joss wasn’t comforted. The river felt different. It didn’t flow as fast, its water wasn’t as clear, and the silver fish swam slowly and came in fewer numbers. Joss’s ripple was unchanged, however, and his crop was ready for planting.

For a little while, Joss concerned himself with his crop. He planted and sowed and soon had green shoots emerging from the dark soil. By all accounts it would be the biggest harvest Joss ever had.

And yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong with the river. It wasn’t just the lowering water levels; the water was becoming murky, fishermen were finding themselves with empty traps, and boats going downstream had to paddle because there was hardly a current anymore.

Joss continued to take his ripple to the river. Its runes had been glowing brighter than ever, and his crop was growing at an astounding rate. Yet, under the water, only a single silver fish approached the tool. The fish was a pitiful thing, hardly bigger than Joss’s little finger. It would slowly swim up to the ripple and circle above its comb.

Joss reached out a finger and let his knuckle brush against the circling fish. A few of its scales flaked off at the touch. Still it circled, slowly and hypnotically, as if it had nothing else to do.

“What’s wrong?” Joss murmured, his nose mere inches above the water. “If you’re sent from the spirit, then why are you so sick?”

The fish drifted to a stop. It turned toward Joss’s finger and its tiny mouth groped at his fingertip.

Joss furrowed his brow. He wasn’t versed in fish behavior. “Are you hungry?”

He could swear the fish looked up at him with a disappointed glance. Then it swam up and flicked water into Joss’s face. “Ack! Hey!”

The fish wound a figure eight over the ripple, then circled Joss’s hand a few times, then swam a few feet upstream and came to a stop. When Joss didn’t move, the fish came back and nudged its tiny body against Joss’s fingers, pushing upstream.

“I don’t understand,” said Joss. “Are you trying to take me somewhere?”

The fish kept circling and nudging. Again and again it went a few feet upstream, then came back to Joss’s ripple.

“Upstream,” Joss concluded. “You want me to go upstream.”

The fish made one last circle, then sat still. It sank until it rested on the wooden panel of the ripple.

Joss gently touched the fish’s head. “I want to help. If that means going upstream, then I’ll go.”

The fish didn’t move. Slowly, Joss slid the ripple out from under it so he could pick up the tool. After shaking the water from it and his hands, he realized the fish was gone.

Joss stood between the river and the edge of his fields. He looked between the two, noticing the disparity between his lush, fertile fields, and the murky, still river. The river stretched for miles through the valley and up into distant mountains. Doubt crept in. “I shouldn’t leave. My fields … and the distance to travel … and at the behest of a fish?”

His fingers traced the runes that lined the length of his ripple. “But … if the river is in trouble … if the spirit is sick ….”

The doubt overruled his desire to leave. Joss tucked his ripple to his side and went back to his house. “I’ll get a bag together, prepare a little, but I shouldn’t leave just yet. I’ll be able to harvest soon. Maybe after harvest I can go.”

Satisfied in his reasoning and despite the hovering sense of foreboding, Joss went to bed.

He was awoken at dawn by people shouting outside. His heart dropped when he reached the river’s side.

The river was gone. Only a dotting of puddles connected by a pitiful trickle remained.

Joss slowly navigated the puddles and mud until something caught his eye. A single silver fish swam circles in the murk. Joss dipped his hand into the puddle, and the fish immediately brushed up against his fingers. Then it splashed water at him.

“I’m sorry,” Joss said quietly. “I’ll go this instant. Forget my crop, this whole village is at stake!”

He stood up to leave but heard a light plop. The fish had jumped out of the puddle and was flopping on the mud! Joss was quick to cup it back into the water. “Wait, I’ll get something. Just wait.”

After retrieving a bowl, Joss took the fish to his house. He set it beside his bed while he hurried to pack things to travel. He poured the fish into a glass jar so he could secure a lid over it.

Lastly he took his ripple. The fish kept pointing at it like a little compass and Joss wasn’t going to ignore it again. He wrapped the tool in a length of fabric and secured a rope on either end so he could carry it easily.

Now with a full pack, a ripple slung over his shoulder, and a glass jar with a silver fish in it, Joss set out. Of course his neighbors asked where he was going, but Joss passed them by. “I’m going to bring the river back” was all the explanation he gave. The villagers insisted he at least take a horse, which he did.

Following the riverbed, Joss traveled upstream. The plants by the river were already beginning to dry up. Grass was turning brown, trees were shedding leaves, and there weren’t any creatures to be seen.

The fish seemed … content? Joss still didn’t know how fish usually behaved, and he was certain this was no normal fish. Its head always faced upstream no matter the direction Joss turned. When he stopped to rest, the fish would swim around the jar and sometimes flick water against the lid.

It took a few days of riding at a brisk pace before Joss spotted another village in the distance. The land was getting rougher as he got closer to the mountains. The river was a few feet deep here, though murky and sluggish. A forest surrounded the village, and a rough path led upstream through the trees.

The village looked decrepit. Crop fields were withering, as were trees.

Joss dismounted the horse just outside of the village and let the animal drink from the river. It was late afternoon. Joss figured he could spend the night in the village, if the villagers were generous enough. If not, he could likely find somewhere further upstream to make camp.

The terrain slanted upward past the village into a rocky forest. The trees were dense and tall, following the slope into the mountain range. Joss checked on the fish; it was still pointing upstream. He spoke to it softly, “Might have to watch for cliffs once we get onto the mountain. Are we getting close at least?”

The fish swam a circle before pointing upstream again.

Joss sighed. “Right. Guess I shouldn’t try to ask specifics from a fish. I just go where you point, little friend.” He settled the jar back into a little sling he’d wrapped around his waist to keep the fish close without jostling it too much.

Joss took the horse by the reins and continued into the village. A few people were headed toward the middle of the village, and Joss followed them. He tried to stop someone but she didn’t seem to hear him. He followed down the roads until he reached the square.

“Is the whole village here?” Joss wondered aloud. A man stood on a box in the middle of the courtyard and scores of people stood around, listening raptly.

Joss stood back and kept to himself, adjusting his saddlebags while eavesdropping on the speaker. No one acknowledged his presence, despite him being a stranger.

The speaker’s voice carried across the courtyard. “You’ve all done well despite the circumstances that currently plague our community. We have made honorable sacrifices, but they have not been enough to renew the river.”

Joss’s attention was piqued.

The speaker continued. “We have long been aware of another community that lives a distance away. A community of farmers with supposedly river-blessed ripples.”

Joss unhooked his wrapped ripple from the horse’s saddle horn and held it close.

“I tell you truthfully, these tools are connected to the river spirit!”

The crowd gasped.

“The farmers use the power of the ripples to make their crops bountiful, pulling the very energy of the spirit onto the land and using it for themselves!”

Joss hugged the ripple a little tighter. The speaker’s words were true, yet he was saddened a little. The ripple remained but the river was almost gone now. What was the point of a blessed tool if the thing that blessed it was in need?

“The ripples are the key to bringing back the river!” the speaker proclaimed. Joss’s heart leaped. He started unwrapping his ripple. If these people knew what to do, then he could offer his help!

“Those tools which leeched the very life from the river must be returned!”

Joss paused. His ripple was mostly unwrapped, exposing its intricate wooden panel and polished comb. He didn’t want to “return” his ripple. It had been in his family for generations! Its very existence was proof of his connection to the river spirit! He wouldn’t dare get rid of such a treasure.

A woman in the crowd glanced behind her and her eyes landed on the ripple. She squinted.

“The life taken from the river must be paid in blood! The tools which in human hands took the river’s life will take human life and return to the river’s hands!”

The woman pointed at Joss and her voice pierced through the air. “Ripple wielder!”

Far too many eyes turned to Joss.

“One here?! Get him!” the speaker called.

Joss bolted. In his panic he left the horse behind. He sprinted through the streets and headed into the forest with the villagers hot on his heels. The evening sun cast long shadows over the ground that obscured roots and rocks, yet by some miracle Joss kept out of reach of the pursuing mob.

His arm was yanked back as someone finally caught up to him and grabbed his ripple. Joss held on to the rope and pulled with all his might. “You can’t have it!” he cried.

The person fighting him let go suddenly. Joss stumbled back but his foot met air.

He fell.

He hadn’t seen the cliff.

Pain slammed through his body as he tumbled down the sloped bank before plummeting down a sheer drop into icy water. The shock made him gasp, which sent water down his throat.

He thrashed and his head broke the surface. He managed to inhale a little air around the water he swallowed before his chest convulsed with coughs. His feet could touch the pebbled riverbed, but the current and steep ground seemed determined to sweep him away.

His left hand remained in a death grip around the ripple’s rope as he floundered. Was this really the same river that had been so lifeless before? Why did it summon such ferocity against him now?

Joss managed to summon enough wits to grasp the end of his ripple and slam the comb into the riverbed. It caught, and for a moment he had a respite. The current still pulled, but at least he wasn’t moving. He coughed up water and finally took in enough air to start catching his breath.

The ripple slipped a little. Joss frantically looked around for someplace he could swim or a ledge he could reach.

A roar of water sounded in his ears. He looked up in just enough time to see a wave surging toward him and with just enough awareness to hold his breath as it crashed over him.

The current yanked up his ripple and all but threw him along, sweeping him where it wanted despite his thrashing and attempts to surface.

The water itself felt like it was holding him under. Joss ran out of breath but still the river pulled him. The fading sunlight suddenly vanished into pitch black. Joss’s head spun. He felt cold. His heart thudded louder than the rushing water around him and he was overwhelmed with the need to sleep.

He shut his eyes. For a moment all was peaceful again. Even his pounding heart sounded distant.

Then it all came rushing back—air, sound, pain. Joss cried out and dragged himself onto his belly with his elbows holding up his chest. He coughed and wheezed, uncaring of everything else except breathing again.

Once his body was convinced it wasn’t drowning, Joss flopped onto his side, sloshing water beneath him. The ground was cold and sharp, loose stones digging into his skin.

Everything throbbed. His head felt like someone was pounding on it from the inside. His chest felt tight. His legs were sore and a little numb. He shivered, goosebumps rising on his wet skin.

He opened one eye but saw only pitch black. Joss started groping around. The water below him was shallow but got deeper near his feet. He started by dragging himself up the bank until he was out of the water.

His hand met a smooth rock wall. It curved upward over his head a little, but he didn’t feel a ceiling from lying on his side.

Joss rested on his back, splayed out like a dazed bird. He felt a sting in his side and grabbed for it.

Glass clinked under his fingers and he felt blood.

He sat up, pulling away the piece of linen tied around his waist. Glass shards tumbled to the ground. One of the shards had cut into his skin and made him bleed. He felt along his side and in the wrap, even nicking his fingers on the glass shards, but he couldn’t feel any evidence of a little fish.

Joss sat, dazed and cold. “It’s gone …” he rasped. “It’s all gone. Me, my ripple, the river, the village—!” His voice cracked. He shuffled along the ground until his back met the wall. There he curled up and buried his face into his knees.

He didn’t have the strength to sob. He held his body while he gasped for each breath and tears ran down his cheeks.

He might have cried himself to sleep, but he couldn’t truly tell.

Eventually he sat in silence. Every now and then he would flick a pebble into the water just to hear something besides his own heart.

But then he heard water splash without him tossing a pebble. A few seconds passed and he heard it again.

“Hello?” Joss whispered.

Something small splashed around, burbled in the shallows, then plopped back into deeper water.

Joss turned onto his hands and knees and crawled toward the sound. His hand found the water and he reached into it.

Something small and cold brushed his fingers. He flinched, but then recognized the tiny wriggling body. He leaned down over the surface of the water. “Little fish?”

Water flicked into his face.

Joss started crying again. “Ah! Little fish! You’re here!” He turned his palm up and the fish swam circles over his skin, weaving between his fingers and flicking water.

Joss felt weak all over again. “You’re here … you made it! Little fish, my ripple is gone. I think I’m in a cave but I don’t know how to get out. Do you know which way to go?”

He felt a little silly, asking so much of a fish, but the little creature hadn’t let him down yet.

The fish swam a line across his palm from right to left. Water rippled over his fingers, then the fish swam across his palm again. “To the left? You want me to go left?”

A tiny splash.

“Okay. I can follow the cave wall, then. You’ll swim ahead and splash occasionally to keep me on track.”

A few beats of silence, then another splash a few feet to his left.

Confidence restored, Joss set his left hand on the cave wall, found his feet, and started walking.

He had to slouch a little to keep his head from scuffing the ceiling. Every now and then he would pause and listen. He’d hear a little splash, smile, and keep walking.

After a while, Joss saw something in the dark. It was a light, soft and blue and shimmering. He walked faster and soon recognized the shape. “My ripple!” he gasped, scooping the tool up from the shallows.

Its light faded significantly when he picked it up. He put it back under and it glowed again. The fish, backlit into a silhouette, circled the ripple and made its carved runes shine brighter.

Joss looked around, finally able to see in the darkness. The water flowed through a long tunnel it carved out over the years, leaving the walls smoothed down.

The fish flopped a few feet away. “Alright, little friend, I’m coming,” Joss replied.

He walked through the shallows to keep the ripple submerged and shining. The fish swam ahead of him, its body reflecting the soft blue light.

As Joss walked, the water got warmer. Then he realized his ripple wasn’t the only light source. There was light at the end of the tunnel and Joss started running toward it.

Noontime sunlight dazzled him when he emerged from the cave. He stumbled out of the water and ended up on his hands and knees in thick clover.

Once his eyes adjusted, he stood up with his ripple in hand. It was glowing brighter than ever. He was in a beautiful clover meadow around the edge of a corrie lake. In truth, the lake was more of a small pond. The mouth of the cave he’d just come from and the erosion levels on the surrounding hills suggested he would be underwater when the river was at its truest depth.

A ribbon of water just big enough for the little fish to swim up led him from the cave to the pond. Large carved stones sat like monoliths around the meadow. Runes that matched those on the ripple covered the stones and shimmered with the same soft blue.

Joss came to the edge of the pond. Its surface was smooth as glass and the water equally as clear. At the bottom was the strangest and biggest fish Joss had ever seen. It was long and thin, perfectly silver from nose to tail. It had a long, thin snout with needle-like teeth poking out.

The little silver fish entered the pond and rapidly circled near Joss before pointing its body at his ripple. Joss set the ripple into the pond.

“You came,” whispered a voice directly into Joss’s ears.

He stammered. “Y-yes? Who …?”

“I am that fish. An old spirit of this old river.” The voice was soft and it made Joss’s heart ache.

“You’re the river spirit,” Joss said breathlessly. “I, uh, the river—”

“Is gone. I know. This plight is no fault of yours. I gave too much.”

Joss’s brow lowered. “I don’t understand.”

“Your tools. The ones with my blessing. I give my power to each one and it makes your crops grow strong and your fabric shine. But I gave too much. I indulged and made your tool strong, too strong. And now I can’t give anything at all. Not even the river.” The spirit spoke slowly; every word was weary and sorrowful.

“Please, there must be something I can do. This little fish led me all the way here, and I want to help. Please, what can I do?”

The huge fish slowly waved a fin. “There is a way. If you return your tool to me, I will regain what I’ve lost and the river will flow again.”

Joss looked at the ripple bridged over his hands under the water.

“I cannot make another tool for you,” said the spirit. “Relinquish your tool, and you forever relinquish my blessing. Your crop will grow but will be unremarkable, and the linen you weave from it will be dull and colorless.”

Joss hung his head and shut his eyes.

“Forgive me,” the spirit keened. “I am a foolish thing.”

Joss’s grip tightened on his ripple. “If I don’t … what will happen to you?”

The spirit took a long time to answer. “I will not die. But I will not be able to bring back the river.”

Joss shook his head. “I … but … the tool. I’ll lose it?”

“Yes.”

“So I …” Joss felt the tears returning. “So I lose you?”

“No. I will still be the river. You may not hear me the way you have, but I will still make sounds for you.”

The little fish flicked water and audibly splashed along the surface. Joss couldn’t help but smile at it. “Yes, you make your point, little friend.” Then he gazed down at the large spirit. “I don’t want to lose my ri— … I don’t want to lose you.”

“You will not,” the spirit said gently. Its thin snout slowly turned toward Joss as it continued. “As long as the river flows, I am there. You will always know where to find me.”

The little fish sidled up to Joss’s hand and swam a figure eight.

Joss took a breath, looking between the ripple and the large spirit. “Alright,” he said, “what do I need to do?”

The spirit opened its thin jaws. “Let me have the tool.”

With a heavy heart, Joss dropped the ripple into the pond. The spirit snapped its jaws shut and the ripple dissolved into blue light that seeped between the spirit’s teeth.

Then the spirit’s fins flared and it swam up to the surface, its long snout brushing Joss’s hand in thanks.

Joss smiled.

The people of Joss’s village had no idea how he ended up appearing on the beach of his own flax field after the river filled its banks again overnight. Nor were they aware that the river had aggressively washed away an approaching mob. The horse Joss had taken with him, they reasoned, was a strong swimmer, and that’s why it too inexplicably ended up at the edge of its owner’s fields, though the poor thing looked remarkably stressed and soaked to the bone.

Joss offered no explanation for the river or the loss of his ripple. His neighbors didn’t press for an answer.

Even without his ripple, Joss continued to spend long hours at the river’s edge, gazing into the water, listening closely, while a little silver fish flicked water at him.