West of January (13 page)

The great ones told the seafolk. Pebble and some of the other men came ashore, and I fled in terror into the rocks. The men went and fetched the women, and Sparkle came after me alone, bearing food and water. Sparkle always had courage.

I do not recall that meeting or how she calmed my wild-beast soul. I do not even remember the subsequent journey, when the women had coaxed me at last into their coracle—which I called a chariot, to their great amusement. I should certainly never have entered it or stayed in it, had I observed how it was powered.

They took me out to the grove and put me in a bower, a dim wickerwork nest, fragrant and bright with trailing blossom.

At first my only companion was ancient Behold, gnarled and scraggy, the first truly old person I had ever met. Her dangling dugs made me think of tent flaps, but she was a gentle nurse and a resolute protector against those who would have pestered me.

A few meals, a few sleeps, and I began to take notice of my surroundings—an egg-shaped green shade, more spacious than a tent and much higher. The walls and floor were spongy with sea moss. Next to the water vines, sea moss is the most useful of the many plants that colonize a sea-tree grove. There was no furniture, but the floor was more comfortable that any bed I had ever known, rocking as waves ran through beneath it. The walls blazed with blossom—chains and bells and sunbursts of pure color—soaring to meet a roof where blue sky sparkled through leaves. Had I died? Could this be the Paradise that the Heavenly Father promised?

The sea tree is a curious vegetable. Far below the water’s surface it trails a single long root—for balance and to act as anchor if the plant drifts into shallows. It also spreads a shallow canopy of floating tendrils that lock together with those of other trees to build a grove. Upward sprout a multitude of thin trunks, barely thicker than canes. Wherever two come into contact, their continuous shiftings rub off the bark and they grow together, merging into a solid joint. Left to itself, a copse of sea trees would soon become an impenetrable jungle, twice the height of a man. The seawomen cultivate passageways, weaving walls and floors, and forming a single communal dwelling of enormous extent. Basketwork becomes solid grid, the leaves keep out the sun, and the whole network flexes and squeaks as the waves run beneath it and through it. It is cool and secure and comfortable.

The grove creaked and rustled all the time, and over that steady melody I could hear voices, both near and far, in song and talk and laughter. Sometimes I heard voices raised, but never in argument or quarrel, only in conversation—it was usually easier just to shout through walls than to go visiting.

Eventually I sat up, shakily. At once a man’s deep bass voice burst out near at hand, and I flinched with a wail of alarm.

“Are better, then?” said a voice.

With another start, I saw that I was not alone. Toothless old Behold was sitting cross-legged at the far end of the bower, braiding leather.

“Some,” I said nervously.

She grinned at me, her face a restless seascape of wrinkles. “Feel strong now?”

“Oh, very strong!” I said. “Like a horse.” I was joking, but Behold misunderstood. Chuckling, she rolled up her work, tucked it under one arm, and crawled across the billowy floor to a hole not much larger than a tusker burrow. I watched her depart with some apprehension. Had I somehow insulted her?

Still weak, I lay down again and tried not to tremble when those male voices sounded too close. If I couldn’t eat or drink, I could always take another nap, I thought. Then the light was blocked, and my eyes snapped open again. A woman was kneeling over me. Like Behold, she wore only a pagne. She was much younger and very close, and I did not think of tent flaps. Cool fingers brushed my cheek.

“Says are feeling strong now?”

I gulped. “A little stronger.”

She smiled and lowered her lips to mine.

I turned out to be stronger than I had thought—strong enough to accept what was offered, at least. I also decided that my suspicions were correct. I must certainly have died.

─♦─

When I awoke the next time, there was another woman altogether lying at my side, just as inspiringly desirable as the first. Much of my recovery is a blur in my mind, but food, sleep, and loving care of that magnitude work miracles on a man. The dream girls appeared and ministered to me and then vanished, to be replaced by others no less lovely. With the third, I was capable of asking her name. With the fifth, I began to make conversation.

While I was still dallying gently with the sixth, a man thrust his head through the doorway and leaned giant fists on the moss. His arms and shoulders were as massive as a herdmaster’s, but smooth instead of furry. His hair was tightly curled and his brown woolly beard encircled a huge toothy grin.

“Am Pebble!” he said.

I manage a timorous smile, clutching tight to my companion, whose name was Flashing and who seemed quite unconcerned at being discovered in such revealing intimacy.

“I’m Knobil.”

The newcomer grinned more widely yet and extended a hand that looked as large as a small saddle.

With my heart thumping madly, I released Flashing and crawled over to him. His hand swallowed mine whole and my wrist as well.

“Like sunfish, Knobil?”

“I don’t know.”

“Will have good surprise, then! Are feasting. Caught very big sunfish! Come!” He chuckled and disappeared.

Flashing was tying on her pagne, and I suddenly realized that I should do the same. I scrambled back together to get it, while congratulating myself on having actually shaken hands with a man. I had seen Violet do that, and my father.

The seafolk garments were much briefer than any I had known in my youth, merely a scrap of sealskin with two thongs attached, wrapped around and knotted. Flashing laughed. We were both kneeling on the moss; she reached out and grabbed my pagne, and for one inspiring moment I thought she wanted a rematch, but all she did was give it a twist around. “Tied on wrong side!” she explained, her eyes twinkling perceptively. The knot went on the left side, apparently.

Pebble was waiting for me in the corridor, and I was astonished to discover that he was no taller than me. He wore the same scanty pagne of golden sealskin, and above it he had the chest and shoulders of a herd-man, but from the waist down he was as slim and short as a trader. The seafolk, I was soon to discover, are all that shape—not truly large, but seeming so because of their enormous chests. I had already noticed the women.

“Come!” he said again and set off along the passage at a trot.

The floor was springy with moss, moving rhythmically as waves ran beneath it. I took two steps and pitched flat on my face. I scrambled up and repeated the process.

Chortling loudly, Pebble returned to help me. There was no sympathy in his grin, but there was no mockery, either. He just found my clumsiness very funny, and evidently he expected me to do the same. Flashing had either tarried behind or gone another way.

Steadied by Pebble’s giant hand, I staggered along the passage, feeling like a stupid child. The corridor twisted and branched until my head spun. The grove was not solid, though. From time to time we passed water-filled clearings. The small ones were dark and shaded; the large ones, sun-bright. The seafolk call them “doors.”

As we walked, Pebble was continually catching protruding springs and tucking them back into the wicker walls. He was probably not even aware he was doing it, but it is only thus that the sea trees can be kept from filling every cranny of the copse.

“Will like sunfish!” he proclaimed. “Is very hard to catch. Am best hunter in the tribe! Have big feast now.”

The thought of a big feast was unnerving. Already I regretted my rash decision to come. I knew so little about these folk! They seemed to be friendly, and I was deeply grateful, but I was now remembering Violet’s sternest warning—that with strangers one must always try to discover their mating habits as soon as possible, because sexual customs vary greatly. A mistake with those is the fastest road to trouble, he had said. I wondered what trouble I might have stumbled into already.

“Sir…”

Pebble’s teeth shone. “ ‘Sir’ me and feed you to fish!”

“Pebble, then?”

“Mmm?” Without breaking stride, he pulled a blossom from the wall and proceeded to eat it.

“Friend Pebble? This…making waves…with Flashing…”

“And Wave? And Sea Wind! Is good one, yes?” His twinkling eye said that my activities had been no secret. “And Silver? Mmmm!”

“It’s all right, then? No one minds? I don’t understand your customs, you see.”

“Is not customs, is just way of life.” He looked puzzled, chewing vigorously. He plucked another flower and handed it to me. “Eat that—is good. Did enjoy Flashing?”

“Very much!” I was sure that such open generosity did not fit any of Violet’s teachings—it also deeply offended my herdman sense of right and wrong, although that had not stopped me from accepting it. “What happens if…what happens if the woman becomes…if she learns she is going to bear a child?”

Pebble stopped dead and stared at me wide-eyed. “Have big feast for her! Are very happy! Love babies very much!”

“Oh!” I said warily. “That’s nice.”

I did not dare inquire what responsibilities that child’s father had, but in fact the answer would have been outside my wildest guesses—none at all. Unique among all the peoples of Vernier, the seafolk need never worry about food because they have the great ones to help them. Moreover, any adult would die of starvation before seeing a child go hungry. The whole tribe nurtured the children.

“Is my feasting place!” Pebble exclaimed proudly, leading me into one of the larger clearings. The central pool shone bright in the steep rays of the sun, while the broad shelf of soft green moss surrounding it was shaded by the overhang of the trees. Water and moss flexed together as the sea’s gentle swell ran through the glade. A fire crackled and steamed at the far side. Many people were already there, standing or lounging around on the platform—mostly women, but a few children of assorted ages. From the smallest to ancient Behold, who was tending the fire, every one of them showed the thick chest and shoulders of seafolk, and every one had woolly brown curls. At the sight of me, they fell silent in surprise.

I was paralyzed to be facing such a crowd, and yet at once I sensed that something was wrong. There were least four times as many women as men—that seemed perfectly natural to me—but few children. I had opened my mouth to ask about that, but fortunately I didn’t have a chance to hurt my hosts’ feelings.

For at that moment a roar of welcome filled the feasting place. I might have turned and fled, had Pebble not still been gripping my arm. Before I could even try, I was enveloped in a breaking surf of people, all riotously attempting to hug and kiss me—men, women, and children. The mossy shelf on which we stood could not bear the weight; it bent, and the giant ball of seafolk with its terrified herdman center tipped gently off into the water.

To everyone but me, this was hilariously funny and became even funnier when they realized that their visitor could not swim and had not returned to the surface. I was hauled up from the depths, set onto the moss, and thumped until I stopped coughing. The smaller kids were rolling in helpless mirth, and some of the adults openly weeping at such unexpected merriment. The inside of my nose hurt even more than my dignity, and my breathing was not helped by the number of people still trying kiss me.

But then a voice began calling for some consideration for the guest. It was not Pebble, though. As a herdman, I was shocked to discover that a woman was shouting orders and hauling people back to give me air. Much more surprising was that even the men were obeying her with good-humored grins.

Pebble beamed proudly. “Is wife, Sparkle.”

Violet had told me about wives. In cultures where marriage was practiced, he had said, a woman was allowed to choose the man who would own her, or at least she might protest if she did not approve of her father’s choice. Usually but not always, a man was limited to owning one wife and therefore might display dangerous jealousy.

Violet would likely have approved of Sparkle. I certainly did. She was older than Pebble, smallish and rather slender for the women of that tribe. Some races might have preferred wider hips in a woman, but the seafolk are a beautiful people, and although the seamen did not rate Sparkle as the loveliest, I considered her just perfect. She had a dignity and purpose that others did not, yet she lacked none of their childlike gaiety. Her face was round and happy, with dark eyes, brown curls, and a fascinating dimple that came and went unpredictably. Even if she did not curve as voluptuously as some, true beauty flows also from within, from a brightness of spirit, and none could match Sparkle in that.

She sat herself on one side of me and put an older man, Eyes, on the other, all our legs dangling in the water. Then she directed the flow of people so that I could meet the company one at a time. First the children climbed all over me, giggling, fingering my straight gold hair and my beard, gazing closely into my eyes as though they were peepholes to my soul, hugging, and kissing.

Behind them came the women. Their greetings were just as innocently intimate and exuberant as the children’s.

Then even the men, in their turn, enveloped me in tight embraces that I found strange and frightening. But I was delighted to discover that none of the men was larger than I. Either I had grown enormously in my time on the sands or I was not a midget, as I had always believed.

Pebble was now running around, greeting his guests and putting flowers in their hair. My hair was too straight to hold a blossom so he tucked one behind my ear, and the laughter started all over again.

More visitors entered the clearing from underwater, including a woman holding a tiny baby, who seemed undisturbed by the experience. There was more kissing and fondling. An elderly couple came in through one of the other doorways.

Behold’s fire sizzled and hissed upon a floating pad of moss. The seafolk made fires rarely—at least in that climate—and always put them on such a floating hearth. Probably the surrounding jungle was much too damp to burn, but it was their home and on this they took no chances.