Chapter 4
- Crat'ax -
My hut creaks as it warms up. The sun has already climbed past the waterline and caught on the stilts.
Morning has come and gone. The village is awake.
I hear boats knock together. I hear voices and feet walking on the planks.
I hear the skirr’s soft noise as it circles the posts below my floor.
The village is different, though. Much more quiet than usual.
Not everyone saw Callie arrive, but now they all know.
She sleeps on, curled on her side, wrapped in one of my furs. Her hair has come loose during the night and spills across the mat like dark weed pulled from the sea. Her face looks softer in sleep. Less sharp and less ready to flee.
The bruise on her shoulder has darkened. The marks from the tentacle stand out clearly now. They will fade, but she really should have some stripes to keep her skin from being injured so easily. Perhaps women don’t have stripes because they expect men to protect them against such things.
But it’s clear that the Deep did not give me a thing. It gave me a person who hurts, who can be injured more easily than the most reckless boy.
I rise quietly and step outside.
The village spreads around me in full daylight.
I try to see it as it would appear to Callie.
Houses on stilts. Walkways of lashed wood.
Canoes tied in neat rows, with my boat the biggest and proudest of them all.
None are allowed to use it, only I. It took me a long time to build, and everyone wants me to build one for them, too.
But I would rather build another one for myself, much bigger and capable of going farther.
Now that Callie is here, that may not be necessary.
Yes, she will appreciate my village. We are the only tribe that lives by the ocean, the only ones who understand that the Ancestors don’t exist and that it is the Deep that provides for us.
But will she appreciate the tribe?
Men move between the boats with baskets and poles. They all look up when they see me, but they don’t say anything. They already know, and they have no idea how to deal with a woman in the village. Nobody expected the Deep to give us that. To give me that.
I brought her in at sunrise, openly and with my head up. The Deep saw fit to give her to my hands in the open. I will not pretend otherwise now. She is mine, and everyone must understand it.
The skirr slaps its tail against the post near my feet and gives its chirping noise. I frown at it out of habit. “Quiet,” I tell it. “There are no Bigs in the bay. Why do you warn when there’s nothing to warn about?”
It ignores me and climbs up a pole to nudge my calf with its head. I shove it away with my foot. Not too hard. It stays up there, sniffing.
Someone laughs.
Chief Brun'ax approaches along the walkway with his slow, rolling stride. He wears three strings of shells around his neck today, which means he is pleased, or pretending to be. No, he wants to impress Callie, of course. A man with three necklaces must be an important one.
“You bring strange tides with you, Crat'ax,” he says. “The sun had not yet warmed the bay, and already we had a woman among us.”
“She came by the Deep,” I answer. “As all things do.”
“As all things do,” Brun'ax repeats solemnly. “Of course. Yes.”
His eyes slide past me toward the hut. “And now she… is still inside?”
“She had a long night,” I tell him. “And who knows how much rest the Plood gave her? There is a ship of theirs on the land.”
“You mentioned the Plood flying ship.” the chief says.
“I never saw it fly,” I admit. “It was there, on the beach. As I watched it, Callie came out of it, and I accepted her as given to me by the Deep.” It’s perhaps not entirely truthful, but it’s close enough.
“It was on the beach?” the chief asks, eyes still on my hut.
“On the sacred sands where the Deep meets the Dry? Then the ship, too, has been given by the Deep. Truly it is powerful! It now hands out both women and Plood ships.” He hides a yawn behind his hand.
“Such an eventful morning. And surprising. What shall we do with the female? Can she hunt, or do other things for the tribe?”
“The Deep gave her to me,” I state. “Perhaps it has also given her a task. We shall see.”
The chief looks her up and down, clearly not convinced.
“Have you given her food? Drink? Bring her to the Circle, and we shall examine her as a thing given from the Deep. It must be an omen. Perhaps a good one.” He straightens and gazes out toward the horizon as if he’s just said something profound.
Two boys have hovered behind him, and now they dare approach. They’re young enough not to have started the Stripening, and they stare at me with wide eyes and no fear at all.
“Is she small because she is young?” one asks.
“She is small because she is not of our people,” I say. “I think she comes from the stars. Certainly she’s not Plood.”
“Will she grow?”
I scratch my chin. “I don’t know. Probably not. She’s an adult, not a child.”
“Does she eat splix?” the other asks. “Or only fruit?”
“She eats what I give her,” I reply, hoping I’m right. “She likes fruit juice and dried splix softened by water.”
“Does she like dried fruit?” The boy holds out a yellow fistful of strips of drus.
“Perhaps later you can ask her,” I suggest. “She’s asleep now, but she must get hungry at some point. She may want to eat the midday meal with the tribe. But maybe she doesn’t want to. We must wait and see.”
“Can she talk?”
I chuckle. “She’s not a skirr, Apter’ix. Of course she can talk. Not perfectly, but she is new to Xren. Soon she will speak like we do.”
The boy’s eyes widen as he has an idea. “Can I teach her?”
“Perhaps. If she agrees and if there’s time.”
That satisfies them. For now.
Chief Brun'ax chuckles. “The Deep is generous this year. A woman before the splix run that will give us food for the next year.”
“The splix have not yet come,” I remind him.
“They will,” he says easily. “They always do. Well, nearly always.”
He knows that as well as I do. Sometimes the Deep keeps the yearly run of splix away from us.
It means that the year to follow becomes hard, and some men have to go into the jungle to hunt, because there’s only a little dried splix stored.
That hasn’t happened for many years now, and I was only a young boy last time.
But I remember it well. They were dark times, and it is said that our tribe nearly went under.
“Nearly always,” I agree. “And anyway, they’re not expected just yet.”
“True,” the chief agrees easily, the way he does with most things. “And yet, some years they are early. Keep your lines hooked and ready.”
“I fish with a spear,” I remind him calmly. “As I always do.”
“Of course,” he quickly says. “We all know your long spear and the wonders you can do with it.” His voice has grown weak with age.
His hands shake when he thinks no one is watching.
He will not lead when the baskets and cases fill with sprattling, shining splix.
He will bless and smile and let the rest of us decide what to do with what the Deep provides.
Sprub’ex steps forward from the crowd. His scars catch the light.
They are old burns and cuts, marks from things with claws and teeth.
Too many, I always thought. He never mastered the craft of catching splix or paddling a canoe in big waves, so he is the only one who sometimes goes into the jungle to hunt the way the other tribes do.
Or so he says. He rarely returns with meat, I noticed.
He stands a little apart from the rest of us, and he always has.
“It is a strange gift,” he says flatly, looking away. “One that arrives just before the run. Or instead of it, perhaps. If there’s no run, shall we eat the woman instead of the splix?”
There are nervous smiles all around. Sprub’ex sometimes says things that could be jokes, but could also be meant seriously. One never knows.
“Callie arrived when she arrived,” I say. “The Deep does not consult our reckoning of time. Should I then reject the gift because she was given on the wrong day?”
“The Deep gives valuable things to the tribe — wood, shells, fish, food, iron, and many other things. It has never brought a woman. Why should we believe that this is the one time it does? And why should it be given to you, Crat'ax, and not an older man? Perhaps the woman wasn’t given by the Deep, but sent by the Plood.”
A murmur runs through the men.
“She was brought by the Plood,” he continues.
“You said so yourself. A Plood ship on the beach, you said. And we know that the Plood are the servants of the Darkness. Perhaps they meant for her to watch us. Or poison us. Or call them back when the splix gather thickest, so they can steal it all from us and plunge the tribe into starvation and calamity.”
I look at him fully now. “You speak of caution. That is wise. You speak of fear dressed as reason. That is less so. Why are you afraid of that little woman? You saw her. What harm can she do to you? And since when does the Deep give items to the whole tribe, except for the splix? Everything is given to and found by one man. Even now, you’re wearing the tooth of an ocean Big around your neck.
It was given to you. Or was it given to the tribe?
Should any of us be able to take your necklace and put it around his own neck? ”
His jaw tightens, but he does not look away. “Try it and see.”
“Callie bled,” I say. “She screamed in fear when a velan attacked. She tried to flee from me, thinking I would harm her. If she were sent to spy, she would be braver or better trained. If she were sent to harm us, she would have done so already, or tried, at least.”
Sprub’ex snorts. “How can you possibly know that? Or do you know more than we think about the Plood and how they do things? Did you meet the Plood yourself, maybe?”