Chapter 21
- Callie -
The morning after the splix run doesn’t feel like a morning should. There’s no clean edge to it, no sense of beginning. The light creeps in gray and pale, through a dense layer of cloud, diffused by smoke that never fully clears from the platforms. Everything smells of splix, raw and drying.
My hair still carries it when I wake, and when I sit up and breathe, it’s like the ocean itself has followed me into the hut.
Crat'ax is already awake. He’s outside somewhere, his voice low and steady, giving instructions. He doesn’t come back in when he hears me stir. That’s the usual way. Mornings like this belong to the tribe, not to us.
I pull on the modified dress Carter’ez made for me and step out onto the platform.
The village is busy in a way that feels almost sluggish, like a body moving after fever.
Men walk past with baskets of splix, with knives, with lengths of cord.
Others crouch by racks where yesterday’s catch already hangs in neat rows, silver skins dulling as they dry.
The platforms creak under the weight of it all.
Food for months, maybe years. It’s great wealth stacked in plain sight.
There are many strangers still here.
I notice them right away, with their swords and different colored stripes.
They stand out not because of that, but because of how they stand.
The men from the Dry tribes linger near the edges of the platforms instead of moving with purpose.
Some squat and talk quietly among themselves. Others lean on the poles and watch.
And it is me they’re watching. They were all waiting for me to come out.
Their eyes track me when I move. When I stop to help Gren’ix sort baskets of dried splix guts, I feel the weight of their attention like a pressure between my shoulder blades.
When I straighten and wipe my hands on my thighs, a few of them look away too quickly.
They should have left by now. The canoes are ready.
I tell myself they’re waiting for something else. For a final bargain. For news. For the fire to be lit again.
But I know better.
When I walk toward the common Circle, a conversation falters. It’s subtle. Just a half-beat of silence, then voices pick up again, louder, rougher, as if nothing happened. I catch fragments as I pass.
“…never seen so much splix…”
“…the net…”
“…the woman. How much iron for her?”
I don’t slow down. I don’t speed up either. I’ve learned that much already.
I glance, without meaning to, toward the distant platform where the cage sits.
It’s far enough away that I can’t see details from here, just the dark shape of it rising from the water, ugly and unmistakable.
My stomach tightens anyway. The dragon doesn’t move.
Or maybe he does, and I just can’t see it. What are their plans with him?
“Callie.”
Crat'ax’s voice reaches me from behind. I feel relief before I feel anything else. He comes closer, his shadow falling over me, solid and familiar. He somehow manages to smell really good and fresh, despite the splix smell everywhere around us.
He puts a hand on my arm. “Did you eat something? This is the time for grilled splix. Most of us like it even better than smoked.”
“I’m sure Theodora would like it, too,” I reply.
“She will. But she may need to eat the smoked kind. The splix can only be fried today, when it’s fresh. Later they won’t be that good.”
He gestures toward a basket being carried past. One of the Dry men slows, just a little, watching us. Crat'ax doesn’t notice. Or he does, and doesn’t think it matters.
“Some of them are still here,” I say, keeping my voice low.
“So it seems.” He watches the movement of the village, eyes sharp. “There’s more splix than ever before.”
“The trading is over now, right?”
“They say they hope for more,” he says. “They will bring more of their own goods from their tribes.”
“Then why are they here?” I point out. “They should be walking in the jungle. Will they leave today?”
Crat'ax doesn’t answer right away. His jaw tightens, just a fraction. “I think they will,” he says. “They can wait in the Dry, not out here.”
“Or they can stay and we can go and see Theodora. Today. The ocean looks calm.”
He turns to scan the horizon and the opening to the bay. “It does. But it’s cloudy. The wind will pick up as the sun rises higher. And there’s still the danger with the ocean Bigs that follow the splix.”
“And then what?” I ask, with a little tremble to my voice.
“What?”
“And then what? What will you say tomorrow? Will you say that the waves are too big? The air is too dry? The ocean is the wrong color? What will be your reason for not going to Theodora tomorrow?” I keep my voice calm, but there’s a tremble in it.
His eyes flash. “We will go there when everything is right. Do you know how long I waited to travel down the beach that first time? I waited for five moons after my boat was ready! Because I knew that the ocean is dangerous and my boat is small. I had to wait for everything to be perfect. So I did. Then I could paddle for the two days it took to get to the beach where I found you. And one day back here.”
“So it could be many days before we go,” I conclude flatly. “Many more days for Theodora to wait, not knowing if I’m alive or dead.”
“If necessary,” Crat'ax says. “With you coming with me, I will take no chances. The ocean can change in a heartbeat. Ocean Bigs can attack from out of nowhere. Irox can attack from a clear sky. The wind could push us into the reefs. The current could draw us out from shore and into the open sea. I have seen it happen. A canoe with two men aboard was dragged out and away. They paddled as hard as they could. But they vanished and we never saw them again. The Deep looks calm and friendly, Callie. But it is the Deep, and the Deep is always dangerous.”
“Always,” I repeat. “Meaning we will never go.”
“That’s not what it means,” Crat'ax growls. “We will go. When it’s safer than now. I will not risk you.”
I look away. “I understand.”
Damn. He has no intention of ever taking me back there.
He might be worried that I won’t come back here with him. Well, he didn’t need to worry about that. Not until now. “I will get some grilled splix.”
I spend the rest of the day avoiding Crat'ax as well as I can. After our talk, several canoes with strangers start toward the shore, so I guess he was as tired of all the eyes on me as I was.
The boys have added an adjustable keel to the little boat, and now they’re busy fixing a mast to it.
I persuade the chief to give me some of the fabric that was traded to use as a sail.
He’s grandly generous with his new riches, and I come away with both rolls of fabric and foods from various tribes.
There are packs neatly wrapped in leaves, plaited boxes, and wooden cases, as well as an assortment of pots.
I don’t know what’s in any of those, but I think I’ll find out.
Arms full, I carry it all to the boat and tell the boys to try to turn the fabrics into a sail while I put the food packs on the rafters under the platform.
I help the boys as well as I can, and well before sunset the boat has a moderately tall mast and a rough-looking sail.
It may all be completely wrong. I’ve never been aboard a sailboat, and I certainly don’t know how to use one.
But I’m sure the boys will figure it out.
They’re extremely effective and work fast.
When they try to sail a small circle out on the bay, many tribesmen watch as they experiment.
Crat'ax was right about the wind picking up, so the sailboat gets a good amount of speed going in one direction and can’t go in the other direction at all.
Finally, the boys have to take the sail down and paddle back, to endless jokes and wry comments from the audience.
I walk over to the farm platform, where Gren’ix is experimenting with using splix guts as fertilizer the way I suggested.
“I hope it works,” I state when I watch him spread the disgusting mass and add soil over it. “If not, all you get is a stinky farm.”
“It’s worth a try,” the old man says. “Or many tries. I have a feeling it will work. It would be just like the Deep to give us a gift that has many uses. I see Crat'ax has chased the other tribes home.”
“They stayed too long,” I tell him. “There was no reason for them to hang around.”
“Oh, they had a reason,” he chuckles as he works with his shovel. “They came for the splix, but they stayed for the woman. Crat'ax doesn’t like it when others stare at you for too long.”
“Why did the tribe catch the dragon?” I ask.
He stiffens, then peers at me with his crusty eyes.
“He told you about the dragon? It’s the kind of thing you should know, I suppose.
Well, our men kept coming upon a dragon in the woods.
When they hunted, or cut down trees for the wood, or were gathering other foods.
He would taunt them, and then vanish. They thought he was moving too close to the Lifegivers, and they worried about what he might do.
And they felt this urge to kill him. I do too, in truth.
There’s something about him that just… Well, we don’t use swords the way the Dry tribes do.
If we did, the tribe might have attacked him and killed him, and we’d be done with him.
But instead, a trap was made, and he was caught one night. I didn’t see it myself.”
“But I did,” Mek’tor says and comes sauntering out of a shadow. “I was there, Callie. Here, have some dried berries. They’re sweet.” He holds out his hand and drops some berries into mine.
I’m not super happy about him having eavesdropped on my conversation, which seems to be a habit of his. But that can’t be helped.
“And now he’s just being held captive?” I ask.
Gren’ix shrugs. “Nobody knows what to do with him. Killing a captive seems dishonorable, even if it is a dragon. And he sometimes tells us what to do, and it turns out well. I don’t know, Callie. I just want him gone.”
“Which of the men in the tribe trapped him?”
“Oh, the young and strong men, of course. Hmm, this doesn’t smell good, but it will make a good crop. I just know it.”
I decide not to press him on it. “I hope the crop turns out good, Gren’ix.”
Mek’tor walks with me away from the farm. “I’m sure you want to know if Crat'ax was among those who trapped the dragon. You know how nothing happens in the village without him.”
“I’ve noticed,” I mutter.
“I don’t know if it was his idea to trap the dragon. But it was his decision that it should be done. The dragon was not a danger to us, Callie. He was just… different.” Mek’tor gives me a significant look and turns to the side.
I give the dried berries to a boy, and get some food at the common Circle before I go to the hut early and lie down on the furs, pretending to sleep.
Crat'ax comes in later. He checks on me and sees that I’m asleep.
“Good night, my love,” he whispers before he puts a soft kiss on my hair.
It’s a struggle to not sniffle or wipe my eyes while I wait for him to fall asleep.
Then I get up, put on my old jumpsuit, and sneak out like before.
I’ve already put the food in the boat, so I can just get in, untie the line, and then paddle away from the village.
But there’s a place I have to go before I aim for the ocean.
“Told you I would make something nice happen,” Vyrathion says when I’m approaching his cage and fighting the urge to paddle fast away from him.
“It was a lot of splix,” I agree. “They’re very happy.”
“But you’re not,” he says in his icy way. “Do you finally understand?”
“That I’m a prisoner? Yes, I got that part.” I get out my knife. “These guys enjoy keeping captives.” The blade is sharp, and using it in a sawing motion, I snap several of the ropes that keep the cage locked.
“Are you sure you want to let me out?” Vyrathion asks. “You were so full of worries last time we spoke. Oh, cut that rope, if you can.” He reaches through the thick beams and points with a clawed finger.
“I think these guys should have fewer prisoners,” I tell him, jaws tight. “And from what they tell me, you never did much to harm them. I will just ask you to stay away from the tribes. For your own good, too.”
“It does seem the smart thing to do. Ah, that did it. You got the important rope. The rest I can deal with myself.”
I sit back in the boat. Despite the darkness, I can tell that his skin is scaly. “What will you do?”
The dragon moves inside the cage, making a soft swishing noise. “I will find gold, and then I will leave this planet. Is there any gold?”
I think back to what Cora told me. “I think any planet has gold. But the tribes don’t care for it. You may have to source it yourself.” I push off from the platform. I won’t experiment with the sail until I’m out of the bay, and out of sight from the village.
The green eyes glitter. “You’ve picked a good night to leave. There’s no moon. And when the tribe discovers I’m gone, most will want to hunt for me, and only a few will be left to look for you.”
“It’s a bonus,” I tell him, my cheeks heating up a bit because he understood that part of my plan — this isn’t all from the kindness of my heart. “We’ll see how far I get.”
I turn the boat around and paddle as quietly as I can in an arc around the village. There are still torches burning, and a few men are still sitting around the glowing embers of the common fire, chatting quietly. In this darkness, they will not be able to spot me in my boat.
This was never Survivor at all. This was more like a prison break.
It takes me a good while to paddle out of the bay. The ocean cooperates, sending no big waves to give me resistance. And along the coast, it appears the wind is blowing the way I want to go.
I turn around, but the only part of the village I can see is the shadow of the new platform with the sleeping caveman inside.
“Goodbye,” I whisper. “Thanks for showing me what life can be.”
Then I lower the keel and hoist the sail.