Sea Stalker

Barnabus was fixing his nets when the boys came strutting down the beach like prized peacocks looking for mates. He sat back on his stool and rubbed the ache in his back.

“Are you Barnabus Squall?” the youngest kid asked as he flicked the hair from his eyes.

“Aye, that's me. Who's asking?”

Another toffee-nosed brat stepped forward, hands on his hips and grinning like an idiot. “We hear you managed to bag yourself a cecaelia, one of those vicious sea stalkers.”

“Then you heard wrong.” Barnabus picked up his netting needle and wove a new cord through a torn piece of net.

“I told you this old goat wouldn't be any help,” the youngest said. “Let's go back to the village and find someone that hasn't had their brains addled by the sun. I'm sure they can point us in the right direction.”

Barnabus snorted. “Now then, laddie, you didn't ask where you might find a cecaelia. That I can help with. See those rocks over yonder? There's a deep trench on the other side that holds the wreckage of a dozen ships. You'll find plenty of cecaelia down there.”

The boys didn't even offer a thank you as they strode off, dragging a long canoe toward the rocks at the water's edge.

Barnabus smirked. “Done up like a kipper.” He got back to his net again. Cecaelia are a race of humanoid-octopuses that live in the coastal shallows of Preatoria. They are reclusive and mostly stay away from others, often making their homes in shipwrecks and submerged caves.

Of the cecaelia, sea stalkers are hunters, and their bows are just as deadly beneath the water as they are out of it. Sea stalkers can change their color to blend in with their surroundings, creating an effective camouflage against predators and prey alike. When hunting, they will often remain hidden until their quarry passes by. Then, they fire a deadly shot; their aim is so accurate it's said a sea stalker can hit a mackerel among a shoal of tuna.

Many fishermen have tried to harpoon a cecaelia but to no avail. Their great spears always seem to miss. No one knows why. Maybe it's the subtle refraction of light through the water; maybe the currents sway to the will of the cecaelia; or maybe they should just be left well enough alone.