Deleted shark-fight scene from a current story
It's always a shame to loose action scenes, but I'm afraid the current story is tighter without this gnostic-tinged shark-fighting scene.
It was easy to forget the beauty of the kelp farms, where green fronds towered up from the deep sea floor, yearning and straining to be near the brilliance and energy of the dry. Partly it was just the work. The kelp was slimy and tough, and for hours Bowem worked its highest branches, hacking it off by the yard with her sharps. And then there were the stinging rays and the jellyfish and especially there were the sharks.
But as Bowem finished one stalk and Davrem, his work partner, loaded the cuttings into the net, he had a moment to glance up at the sunlight streaming down through the brown blades of kelp, its light filtering down in broad beams that seemed firm enough to walk on, to climb into the dry in another body, a different body made by the true creator and able to stay with ease in the land where he had once walked.
Then the sentry shrieked the alarm and Bowem shook the last blades of kelp from his sharps. He wrapped his legs together and swam upcurrent so that he and Davrem were back-to-back. They had done this many times and they swam like a double bullet out of the fray. From here, Bowem could spot them. Hammerheads, more then twenty, always striking at the tails of the Yewanwi, hoping to disable a few of them and then catch them when they sunk into deeper waters.
“Let’s go,” Davrem said, and they were off. They dove deep and came up from below, barrel-rolling around one another at top speed. Boyem jammed a sharp deep into a set of parallel gills, but was away before he could see the blood. He lashed out on the other side now, cut a hammerhead’s eye sheer from its ugly stalk. But that took time and Davrem sailed on ahead without him. Instantly, a shark’s teeth rasped at Bowem’s back, fastening and tearing. Boyem spasmed in pain, then punched a sharp into the side of the animal’s neck, right up the elbow.
He pushed the dead shark away and swam straight down for the village. Bleeding, he would only call more of them. Off to the sides, she saw other Yewanwi fleeing alongside him, saw sharks nipping at their tails. He kicked desperately, kelp hurtling by until he reached the shelter, a large dryhome on the ocean floor. Someone opened the door and slammed it shut behind him.
It was easy to forget the beauty of the kelp farms, where green fronds towered up from the deep sea floor, yearning and straining to be near the brilliance and energy of the dry. Partly it was just the work. The kelp was slimy and tough, and for hours Bowem worked its highest branches, hacking it off by the yard with her sharps. And then there were the stinging rays and the jellyfish and especially there were the sharks.
But as Bowem finished one stalk and Davrem, his work partner, loaded the cuttings into the net, he had a moment to glance up at the sunlight streaming down through the brown blades of kelp, its light filtering down in broad beams that seemed firm enough to walk on, to climb into the dry in another body, a different body made by the true creator and able to stay with ease in the land where he had once walked.
Then the sentry shrieked the alarm and Bowem shook the last blades of kelp from his sharps. He wrapped his legs together and swam upcurrent so that he and Davrem were back-to-back. They had done this many times and they swam like a double bullet out of the fray. From here, Bowem could spot them. Hammerheads, more then twenty, always striking at the tails of the Yewanwi, hoping to disable a few of them and then catch them when they sunk into deeper waters.
“Let’s go,” Davrem said, and they were off. They dove deep and came up from below, barrel-rolling around one another at top speed. Boyem jammed a sharp deep into a set of parallel gills, but was away before he could see the blood. He lashed out on the other side now, cut a hammerhead’s eye sheer from its ugly stalk. But that took time and Davrem sailed on ahead without him. Instantly, a shark’s teeth rasped at Bowem’s back, fastening and tearing. Boyem spasmed in pain, then punched a sharp into the side of the animal’s neck, right up the elbow.
He pushed the dead shark away and swam straight down for the village. Bleeding, he would only call more of them. Off to the sides, she saw other Yewanwi fleeing alongside him, saw sharks nipping at their tails. He kicked desperately, kelp hurtling by until he reached the shelter, a large dryhome on the ocean floor. Someone opened the door and slammed it shut behind him.