Migration Routes Have Shifted In The Last Millennia

20260206

Written for Bradley Ramsey’s “Flash Fiction February Day 6”.

Now, Oscar was used to trying to shoo people out of protected waters. But before they’d always been, well, vehicles. Boats who didn’t realise where they were, or didn’t know this was a protected migration corridor, or hadn’t realised that maritime law applied to them. Plus the occasional bad actors who knew that whales would be trying to pass through here with their young and were waiting to attack the poor things.
Whereas this…
“Yes, I said an island.” Oscar repeated into the radio, loud and slow. “As in, a huge chunk of rock. With plants on it. And people.”
“Your instruments must be off. There’s no island for-”
“It’s floating.” Oscar was painfully aware of how crazy this sounded. “Belle sent the underwater drone down and it’s… it’s very deep, iceberg style, and at the bottom it’s all glowing blue rock.”
Silence.
“I swear this isn’t a joke!”
“No, no, I’m more worried you’re all hallucinating.”
“I wish! It’s like these people popped up off the ocean floor! Alex’s trying to communicate with them but the translate app can’t make heads or tails of their language and they’re just as lost. What are we supposed to do?”
“Uh… give me a minute.”
Oscar sighed and leant back to peer at the ongoing ‘discussions’. Alex had spread out the biggest paper map they had on the beach, and various… locals? Were standing around inspecting as Alex pointed to a rock - presumably this island - and made earnest gestures which Oscar couldn’t begin to understand.
Well… with the island being so big, perhaps the whales would figure things out and go around it? Or under it. If the drone could just about manage to see the bottom whales could probably navigate down there.
Which didn’t make the question of where did this island come from and how are there people living on it any less perturbing. But, and this was crucial, figuring it out might not be Oscar’s problem. They’d see what the main-
Oh god, Alex was pushing a leaf along the map and making whale noises. Oscar cringed as one of the natives laughed - but the others started talking rapidly amongst themselves. Pointing at the map, where Alex was bumping the leaf against the rock. Gesturing emphatically to each other.
Had the idiot actually managed to…?
The wizened old woman who seemed to be some figure of authority, judging by how her tunic was encrusted with ceramic beads, said something to a younger member of the group, who dashed off towards the houses just visible up the beach. The old woman turned and walked to the northeast edge of the shore.
She unhooked the conch shell at her belt and lifted it to her lips. A deep, slow tune rang out across the the water, harmonising with the crashing spray and resonating in Oscar’s chest like he was humming.
For a moment Oscar thought the waves had picked up. Then he saw how the navigation instruments were reacting, and what was happening on the overhead satellite map, and he realised that the island was moving.
Which, alright, it had to have gotten here somehow, but, but… how? What was going on??
The ropes mooring their ship to the rock pier were creaking under the strain as they were pulled along behind the island, like a child’s toy. And the old woman stood on the beach, her expression serene, continuing to play that melody which echoed beyond ears.
“Drone’s barely keeping up!” Belle muttered, her wide eyes fixed on her terminal. “And I don’t see anything that… what’s creating the thrust??”
Before Oscar scraped his wits back together, much less came up with an answer, it was over. The old woman had lowered the conch shell and walked back to where Alex was still making whale noises back and forth with one of the natives.
Idiot hadn’t even noticed what was going on.
While gestures were still very limited, Oscar suspected the old woman was trying to ask if the island was now safely out of the whales’ way. Which Alex couldn’t tell her, not having seen the coordinates change.
So Oscar fumbled his phone out, snapped a picture of the navigation console, and jumped to the beach to move the rock to its new place on the map. Not quite out of the protected zone, but… call it close enough.
Feeling a right fool he picked up the leaf and made it ‘swim’ up the migration route, curving a little to stay away from the island, and continue on its way. Alex helpfully provided happy whale noises - which the group echoed, slapping their hands on their thighs in what seemed to be celebration, or victory. It was certainly approving.
Right. Ok. Immediate issue resolved. Somehow.
Now, he’d better radio the main lab again and tell them the island’s new coordinates. And maybe declare that his team was going to continue on their way. This was a job for someone with significantly better linguistic skills than Alex.

Prompt was “A new island has been discovered somewhere on Earth. It’s not on any map, but it seems to be inhabited. Write a story or poem from the perspective of someone who joins the first expedition to this new land.”