At Sea with the Remarkable Maragana - The Journal of Anther Strein
The Journal of Anther Strein
Observations from a Travelling Naturalist in a Fantasy World
Written by Lachlan Marnoch
with Illustrations by Nayoung Lee
Previous: A Journey Amended in Delta City
Photo by Matt Hardy, via Unsplash
Pahlaviday 20th of Corper, 787 AoC
Fishing Ship Connotation, in the Spine Ocean east of Essichard
At Sea with the Remarkable Maragana
The Connotation is at sea! The fresh-salted wind is a great pleasure, ruffling the fur and refreshing the nostrils with a mild sting. The ship cast off as soon as the last light of Sororius had faded from the sky, striking north-east from Badaharbour in the darkness; the widely-recognised dangers of nocturnal coastal navigation appear to have been mitigated by the vessel’s extensive magical instrumentation. This I would love to describe, but the equipment is among the most closely-guarded secrets of the Maragana’s seafaring; and besides, a detailed account would only add further heresies to the list with which I will no doubt be indicted if the Inquisition one day peruses my notes!
There is plenty with which to be impressed aboard this craft even without reference to such matters--a fine ship I have found, indeed. Its pale hull carves through the waves with an ease I have seen in no other vessel. By sunrise we were sweeping past Naval Island, an outlying territory of the Swampland Kingdom1. It is for good reason that the merchant and fishing fleets of the Maragana are famed throughout Proesus. Slim, elegant, bone-white things, they are constructed from ghostwood, a material harvested from trees native only to Maragana. I suspect the wood is fitted together with no small magical influence, for no Proesan ship can match a Maragana vessel for speed. Certainly, they employ magic for the ship’s propulsion; today I witnessed the craft’s resident weather-sorcerer directing wind into the sails. I have never before moved at such velocity.
Maragana ships often bear intricate figureheads modelled after sea creatures, with some even including a tail protruding from the stern2. Shark heads are especially common on fishing boats. The Connotation's figurehead is carved in this style, with a great hammer-shaped head resembling that of a Maragana. However, there are obvious morphological disparities, including ridge placement, width, and the depth of the notches on the crest. At first, I attributed these differences to either stylistic choice or a lack of proficiency on the part of the artist--although it is otherwise so skilfully hewn that the latter seemed unlikely. After inquiring to the crew, I am told that the head is not one of the Maragana themselves, but of an okigana, a species of hammerhead shark revered in their society. More should be told of the obvious resemblance here, but I shall return to that subject. First, it would not do to leave the Maragana themselves undescribed, for they compose a remarkable species indeed!
Maragana (known to Proesan science by the binomial Syreni territorialis, although I doubt that they themselves use this moniker) are native to a large island far to the east of Proesus, near the southern tip of the Ocean Spine--an island, too, named ‘Maragana’. The position of this landmass has only been verified by Proesan sailors within the last couple of centuries--the Maragana have always guarded their charts jealously. Proesus has only recently begun to catch up in its marine technology--while the Maragana have always traded in the Old World, Proesan explorers rediscovered the continent only in the last few decades3.
In keeping with this trend toward secrecy, Maragana fisherfolk are as notoriously reticent concerning every aspect of their trade as they are adept at it. Although they never fish in great quantities, their small piscary operations seem not to find any difficulty in turning a profit. The Connotation is such an operation, specialising in rare or exotic fish that are considered difficult to catch. They achieve this, above their Proesan counterparts, by knowing very well where and how to catch them.
Captain Naaki informed me before my embarkation that the primary reason for the secrecy concerning their fisheries is a concern for overfishing--she claimed that Maragana fisherpeople have a conservationist restraint lacking in Proesans. I am inclined now, having seen the nature of their hunt, to believe her. The crew keeps a precise tally of every fish brought aboard, with a strict quota placed on each species. Any fish accidentally caught in excess of this quota is tossed back immediately. These restrictions depend on an assessment of how vulnerable the species is, not merely overall, but in the local population! Coming from the central Maragana government itself, extensive scientific surveys must have been carried out to acquire these figures, to speak nothing of keeping them up to date4. Perhaps I was born on the wrong landmass--it seems that a trained naturalist can find bountiful employment in Maragana! I find this entire system deeply impressive; the Maragana seem to take any action only once they have considered the effect it will have on the local wildlife. The best that can be hoped for from Proesan governments is a concern for overfishing in their local waters, and even this is rare; no nation cares for the waters of another, as the Maragana do here. The very notion of a vulnerable population is one only recently acknowledged, and only among naturalists--to most of Proesus, the fish of the oceans, as the beasts of the land, are bottomless resources which may be drawn upon endlessly. They are sure to be disabused of this ignorance at some point, in one fashion or another.
Underpinning the Maragana ethos is a superb understanding of the natural world, and most especially, I think, of ecology. Proesan naturalists have often dismissed or ignored the work of Maragana science, which I am now coming to apprehend as a grave error. Captain Naaki has offered a glimpse into several Maragana books on the natural world, which she keeps in her cabin; one in particular caught my attention, containing numerous detailed prints of the island’s native wildlife. I wasted little time in turning through them; although I couldn’t read a single word of the text (despite a confounding resemblance to characters with which I am familiar), the accompanying images were enough to capture my full attention. What riches of knowledge must lie here if only I could properly access them!
The Maragana have two separate scripts: one in which each character represents, I am led to understand, an entire syllable, while the other functions as an alphabet. The former has more than a passing resemblance to the Nullartus alphabet (despite being used as a syllabary); however, the sounds they represent, from my brief questioning of Captain Naaki, have no correspondence whatsoever with the Nullartus phonemes familiar to me. The characters of the second script are completely unfamiliar. Each system has its particular function and is used in specific contexts, but the rules dictating this are quite beyond me--every page of the captain’s books contained an apparently random mixture of the two. I would dearly love to know the history of the Maraganan written word, hinted by this brief glimpse to be an eccentric one, but the small fragment of her schedule that the captain was able to offer me was spent mostly on natural science (reflecting the primary enthusiasms, it appears, of both parties). I have always had a curiosity about language and its various mechanisms, secondary of course to my scientific pursuits, but never failing to tickle the spark of curiosity that so turns one’s head. The way that language seems to change and branch and recede over time, without much or any voluntary input from those speaking it, is of great interest, particularly as it relates to my studies of the natural world. Once again, I have hit upon one of my most enduring frustrations--the world contains so very much that begs to be learned, and offers but one lifetime in which to learn it! I shall have to make it my goal to visit Maragana myself, one day, and there to address some of these gaps in my knowledge.
The captain offered a translated overview of some of the pages, and I have scribbled copious notes from this elsewhere—on three-eyed lizards, parrots both flightless and alpine, and great flightless crickets that freeze solid in winter only to thaw unharmed in spring5. Among those that went untranslated due to a lack of time, but which caught my attention as I flipped through the pages, was a large flightless bird that somewhat resembled a Proesan desert runner (Samag juja), but, if the little Maragana figure drawn in next to it for scale is to be trusted, at least double the height and of far bulkier proportions. Depicted in the act of attacking one of these birds was an eagle of proportionately unusual size--rivalling perhaps even the supreme night eagle (Iolair nox) of the Ractanos Desert. I have read reports, from Proesan visitors to Maragana island, of large flightless birds called moa--but, although these descriptions match the sketches here in many respects, none approach them in size. I have also heard nothing of any Maraganan raptors, which seems a glaring omission given the extraordinary scale of the eagle depicted here. The sketches seemed too detailed to be of extinct animals--but perhaps mythical, or imagined ones? If the latter case should be true, their placement in this book alongside real creatures is a strange one. Is the culture of the Maragana one which blurs the line between scientific reality and the myths of their past, combining them into a hybrid truth? The precision with which they track their ecological impact would appear to me to preclude this, but perhaps this is mere bigotry on my part. Mayhap the two bird species are simply found on a neighbouring island, recorded only by Maragana science. This pair of enigmatic avians shall have to be the topic of my next discussion with the captain.
Although I, along with the rest of my species, am an adept swimmer, I cannot breathe underwater as the Maragana can, being in possession of both lungs and gills. This limits the time I can spend underwater, and the depths I can attain. However, the Connotation has an answer for this. In order to facilitate my observations, Captain Naaki has provided me with a remarkable diving suit, one designed for Paluchard use. It is equipped with a canister of magically-compressed air and a complicated apparatus for delivering it to the mouth as needed. Add to that a pair of strange airtight glasses--Paluchard can see adequately in water, but the salt of the ocean stings the eyes--and I was ready to accompany the crew on their fishing dives, so long as I stayed out of their way.
The Connotation, Captain Naaki tells me, has occasionally catered to members of wealthy Paluchard Houses, taking them on diving tours to witness the wonders of the ocean. It is for this purpose that the suit was designed. She waved her hand at the suggestion of my paying any rent.
“Let the rich pay--we charge enough to subsidise your use a hundred times over.”
I was only too happy to concede, and have henceforth swum among the crew in their fishing dives. The world with which I have been presented therein is… sublime. It is precisely that, another world, one full of colours and sights to be found nowhere on land. Schools of fish mill about in darting swarms, while others of greater size approach with curiosity for the intruders in their habitat. Jellyfish and squid drift idly by. Alien plants and rooted animals cling to the rocks and the sand, the suspended murk of the water fading eyesight to nothing beyond a dozen heights. All of it clad in eery silence, punctuated regularly by the thunderous stream of bubbles exhaled from my mouthpiece. My buoyancy, no issue for Paluchard swimmers usually, is complicated by the saltwater and the addition of the heavy air canister; but this is compensated for with weights and air-sacs attached to my suit, the latter fed from the same canister as my lungs and able to expand or contract at the touch of the control mechanism. I was able, with some practice, to rise and sink as I pleased. A truly remarkable piece of equipment, this, and an incredible experience it provides, one that should certainly not be limited to the wealthy. I hope that the diving suit technology of the Maragana eventually makes its way to Proesus in bulk--but then, who is to say it would not remain restricted to the upper crust?
Maragana demonstrate what I am beginning to think of as the marks of evolution, but they are… strange. They do not fit neatly into my ideas, but they do have features that support them. I shall begin with a brief description of the species, for those who have lacked the fortune to encounter them.
Standing on clawed feet, with a two-lobed tail projected backward for balance, Maragana are quite tall among sapients. They usually exceed one height in stature, not quite rivalling the Ractanos, which stand nearly half again as tall. However, the Maragana’s hunched stance and elongated bodies--slightly longer than they are tall--might make them, on average, the second-largest of the sapient species (behind, of course, the Ridorun). Despite their size, Maragana tend to be quite light--an effect, I believe, of their cartilaginous skeletons, a detail I will come to.
The head is a back-swept bar, resembling, as I mentioned before, that of a hammerhead shark. This skull shape affords them excellent binocular vision; eyes placed almost precariously at the two extremes afford them an excellent field of vision, able to see above, behind and below without any need to crane the neck6. Their rough skin, ranging from pale grey to near-black on the top and invariably white on the underbelly, is smooth to the eye and approaches sandpaper to the touch; it is actually composed of tiny scales, from each of which protrudes a minuscule hook7. A dorsal fin protrudes from the back, and the tail terminates in a two-lobed caudal fin very much like that of a shark. If we extend the analogy--and I am beginning to think that we may--a Maragana’s legs correspond in position with the pelvic fins of the shark, while the arms occupy the position of the pectoral fins.
Maragana are fearsome in appearance. Their rumbling voices and substantial height, combined with a bowed stance that lends them a certain looming quality when engaged up close, can make them quite intimidating. This is to say nothing of their numerous serrated teeth, bulging from a mouth that forms, to Paluchard eyes, a fierce perpetual grimace. Nonetheless, once such mental obstacles were overcome, I found the Maragana of the crew to be excellent company. Although communicating among themselves at a pitch lower than the Paluchard range of hearing, Maragana can raise their voices to more legible tones, for which I am grateful.
It is hard to shake an impression of awkwardness about the Maragana’s movements on land, taking the form of a curious shuffling gait. This melts away utterly the moment they enter the water. When swimming, an activity any Maragana can be found engaging in often, the tail-fin is used for primary propulsion, in a lateral motion which, again, resembles nothing more closely than the manner of a shark; the rear limbs are held close to the tail, adding their strength to its oscillation, while the arms are held nearly stationary and used for steering, or else to clutch tools8.
Although Maragana can breathe underwater, a swimming Maragana cannot remain still for long; a constant flow of water must pass through the mouth and out the gill-slits to absorb the necessary oxygen. This can be alleviated partially by holding breath in the lungs if the Maragana needs to be still (for example, if ambushing prey); although this can produce buoyancy issues, the fisherpeople seem adept at overcoming them. In example, I watched a Maragana waiting patiently for a long-spined pufferfish (Akira homerii, considered a delicacy in Aranta despite the potency of its poison) to drift within range, clinging to a rocky outcrop with one hand and net poised in the other.
Maragana have good eyesight, both underwater and in air, and a remarkably acute sense of smell that seems to come into full effect only in the water. Curiously, their sense of touch seems lacking when compared to my own. I have mentioned previously the Maragana’s remarkable sixth sense, apparently galvanic in nature and gained when immersed in water. This has been my first opportunity to see it in action or hear of it firsthand--on our second dive, I watched from within my suit as the fisherpeople located sandfish after perfectly hidden sandfish, hauling them without hesitation from their invisible hiding spots without a single mistake that I witnessed. The Maragana have trouble describing the sense to others, but it allows them to sense other animals in the water, even with eyes firmly closed. They are quite firm in distinguishing it from smell. Captain Naaki tells me the galvanic sense originates in a number of visible pore-like intrusions (‘ampullae’) dotted across the head. No doubt, much as the spreading apart of the eyes aids in the accurate perception of distance, the wide skull of the Maragana must in some fashion enhance the acuity of this extra sense. They can even use it for basic communication, apparently able to coarsely influence the fields they produce themselves; they also can use it to tell direction relative to north and south, much like an Austium can, but only when immersed. This last detail piqued my interest--I wonder, are our physicists aware of this connection between galvanism and the magnetism that swings the compass?
In turning through my notes just now, I have observed a pattern in the naming conventions of the Maragana--okigana, kelogana, herigana, all species of shark--and that it appears to extend to their own name for themselves. I thought, perhaps, this might be a coincidence, but the possibility also occurred to me that they might in fact identify themselves with sharks--a fascinating piece of anthropology, if true. This, along with the uncanny resemblance of the Maragana to the hammerhead shark, has sent my mind down some fascinating paths… paths that shall have to wait for a future entry, for today's dives have worn me thoroughly, and my eyes are drooping closed even as I…i
1 This is where King Derstan keeps his bluewater fleets, and from which all of the Kingdom’s colonial efforts are launched. Our sighting of the patrolling Swampland craft inspired a conversation with Captain Naaki on the capabilities of Proesus’ various martial navies. When I enquired after Maragana’s war vessels, of which I have never heard mention despite the impressive reputation of their civilian ships, she had only this to say:
“No living Proesan has seen our warships. You should pray that this remains so.” She said this without the tone of a boast, but as a mere statement of fact.
2 I recall being particularly struck, during my studentship, by one berthed in Forum Harbour, which had been skilfully shaped to resemble a kraken--complete with tentacles rippling, from a mantle mounted on the prowl, along the entire length of the ship.
3 Although it must be noted that, in this, the Maragana have the added advantage of significantly greater proximity.
4 Fishing vessels are forbidden to leave Maragana harbours without updated quota charts.
5 I would list the binomials here if only they had them! The Maragana do not engage in the same taxonomic book-keeping as the scientists of Proesus, or at least employ a different system for tracking it.
6 Although leaving them with something of a blind spot directly in front--for this reason, conversations between two or more Maragana usually take place standing side-by-side, rather than face-to-face.
7 Only with the advent of the microscope have similar details been discovered on the skin of the shark, although its utility has been known since antiquity--sharkskin is a common substitute for sandpaper in fishing communities.
8 Each member of this ship’s crew dives with a fishing javelin and a net, one in each hand.
i In the original text, the handwriting of this last sentence becomes larger and less legible as it goes on, ending in a trailing line from the final word.