West of January (14 page)

The steamy odor of sunfish was making my mouth ache. Pebble came around with a basket full of tasty morsels, urging everyone to fill both hands. They were delicious, although I did not know what they were, but I was shocked speechless at the sight of a man serving food.

By then I had met everyone, and the hugging had ended. By then, too, the mossy shelf had sunk so that we were all sitting in the sea, with the warm swell rising to our waists.

I noticed that all the men tied their pagnes at the right, except one. His name was Sand, and he was a fuzz-faced adolescent, Pebble’s brother. Apparently Sand lived within a permanent cloud of girls, rarely having fewer than four clustered close around him. All of them, and almost all of the older women, tied their belts on the left hip, like Sand himself, and Flashing, and me. Having by now caught my breath, I asked Sparkle.

She half-turned to smile at me in disbelief. “Not know? Is sign of being married, Knobil. Am Pebble’s wife. Is my husband. Have our pagnes tied at right. Sand not married. Nor you.”

I nodded in understanding. “There were some girls who came… I mean, I dreamed that girls came to visit me…”

“Were making waves?”

I nodded uneasily.

Sparkle was well named. Her eyes gleamed brighter than anyone else’s and her laugh was pure sunshine. “Not wives, Knobil! Don’t dream of wives. Make waves with others—no waves for wives!”

“I promise,” I said. “It may not be an easy promise to keep, though.”

“Must be very strong!” she said warningly. Under the water, her hand was stroking my thigh. Sparkle had been the very first of those dream girls to come to my bed.

Pebble had slid into the sea and begun bringing the fire around the clearing. He was effortlessly treading water, with only his head above the surface. As he reached each guest, he would spear a slice of the sunfish on a big bone fork and hold it up, laughing and talking all the time. I would not have thought that forty or so people could have produced so much noise. Even the singing continued while they ate.

I accepted a slab of sunfish so large I had to hold it in both hands. I tore at it joyfully. Everyone else was doing the same.

“Herdmen have many wives?” Sparkle inquired innocently, so at some time in my illness I must have told them that I was a herdman.

One thing I had not learned from Violet was tact. “Not wives. A herdmaster owns his women.”

Sparkle wrinkled her gorgeous nose in disapproval.

“I… I don’t disapprove of wives!” I said hastily.

She choked on a mouthful of sunfish and sniggered.

“I mean…” I began and then lapsed into uneasy silence.

Pebble finished serving the sunfish and emerged onto the shelf with the rest of us to begin gorging, talking all the time like everyone else. Unwanted scraps went into the water and ominously vanished.

“Friend…?” Pebble said with his mouth full. “Knobil—is foolish name!”

“Why so?” I asked politely.

“Doesn’t mean anything!”

“It means me.”

Pebble pulled a face, wiping dribbles of fat from his beard with the back of a paddle-sized hand. “Need a song!”

The audience broke into cheers of agreement.

“What sort of song?” I asked.

When a child is born to the seafolk, I was told, the parents compose a song and sing it to the tribe and to the great ones, and that song is the child’s name, although usually only the first word is used. His song is almost the first word a child learns to say—or sing, rather.

I demanded some examples, and several youngsters eagerly sang their names for me. As a herder I had whiled away much of my youth in composing impromptu jingles—singing was about the only entertainment possible for children herding woollies—and I had always had a knack for inventing verses. I scratched my beard for a moment, then sang how the golden sand was warm and soft, but it mourned because the sea was brighter; then a lucky wave washed over it, and thereafter the sand was happy because it could also sparkle.

This faint effort earned tremendous applause, probably more because of the tune than the words—I had used a fine grassland melody that was obviously new to my audience. I had to repeat the performance several times, and from then on I was not Knobil, but Golden.

Pebble called for silence. “Being better makes us all glad!” he proclaimed. “Will now tell us his story. How did come to be on the beach, Golden?”

“I am a pilgrim,” I said. “I am on my way to Heaven.”

Cold disapproval fell over the clearing. Black glances were exchanged. There was no sound except chewing.

“What’s wrong?” I asked nervously. “You don’t approve of pilgrims?”

“Is waste of good man!” Sparkle said. “Need you here, Golden.” She had finished her meal and was now surreptitiously fondling my thigh again—the underside this time.

“Must stay!” Pebble agreed.

“I need to recover my health. I shall be very grateful if you let me stay until then, until I’ve recovered my strength.”

Sparkle pinched me.

The seafolk could not remain disapproving for long, and soon Pebble asked which way I needed to go. I mentioned the Great River and explained that I had only a vague idea of where it might be. There were many thoughtful glances around, and then everyone turned to the three old folk.

“Is long,” Behold said. “But going downstream. Help Golden with raft, maybe?”

Sparkle saw my surprise. “Remembers journey here,” she explained. “Before was born.”

“Before she was born?”

She laughed. “Me! Came from South Ocean.”

“Talk to great ones!” Pebble shouted, jumping to his feet.

“Time met them, anyway. Can hold breath, Golden? Will take you!”

I was not sure what was involved, but already I felt I could trust Pebble. Ever since Anubyl had beaten my mother, I had known that I was a despicable coward, yet I hoped to hide that fact from my hosts. I was overwhelmed by the hospitality of these kindly seafolk, and I would certainly lose their friendship if they learned the truth about me, so I rashly said that of course I could hold my breath. Pebble was in the water at once, waiting for me. I joined him, nervously supporting myself by clutching at the tangle of roots below the moss.

“Deep breaths!” he commanded. “More! Now hold my belt.”

I took hold of his pagne and was yanked under as he sounded—down into darkness and utter silence. It was the first complete darkness I had ever known. I could feel the water surging past and the power of his strokes below me. Tentatively I opened my eyes and saw nothing at all. Fortunately I did not panic—I just froze, too terrified even to struggle. Roots stroked along my back like hard fingers.

How long? I did not think I could hold my breath much longer.

Then we passed under another clearing. I saw a glimmer of light and vague shapes as our smaller or older companions surfaced for air, for the whole company had come along, but Pebble did not think to stop to let me breathe. He was hardly less at home underwater than on the surface, and any journey was a race to him. Now I was learning what those massive seaman chests were for. Although I was not exerting myself and he was swimming for two, I ran out of air long before he did, while the brightness of our destination was still far, far away.

That time I came very close to drowning. They laid me in the sunshine on the moss apron that bordered the grove, and they worked me like a bellows to empty my lungs of half the March Ocean. Pebble thought it was hilarious.

“Must teach you swimming, Golden,” he said, scratching the woolly beard around his grin. “And soon, think.”

By the time I had recovered enough to take part in events again, everyone who had been present at the feast had arrived. A wide moss platform fringed the outside of the copse, and despite many small sea trees sprouting in it, there was easily enough space for fifty or sixty people. I noticed with surprise that Sparkle was holding the baby I had seen earlier, and again the little mite had not objected to being submerged. More men and women were popping up out of the water, attracted by the noise and clambering up on to the spongy green beach. Other seafolk emerged from corridors and walked along to join us in the blinding sunshine. Pebble began making introductions, and I was hauled to my feet to be hugged and kissed by these newcomers. Soon we were ankle-deep again, and the wave crests ran past our knees. Again I noticed the strange scarcity of children.

I was between Pebble and Sparkle, with my back to the sea. Fortunately Sparkle had just handed the baby to another enthusiastic admirer. I had been embraced by Blossoms, a hugely fat man, jovial and grizzled, and was now being kissed by his wife, Cloudy, whose way of greeting a young man came perilously near to rape. An explosion of whistling and chirping close behind me made tear loose and whirl around.

I panicked. Cloudy and two others went over in a giant splash as I plunged screaming into the mob. Unable to run in the water, I overbalanced and went down myself, taking along two more people. I tried to rise and was struck by a returning wave, and was submerged again.

Arms gripped me tightly. I was blinded and spluttering and shaking with terror, but someone was holding me, clutching my head firmly against something soft, soothing and comforting me. Everyone else was bellowing with laughter and, I suppose, helping my victims to rise. I blinked my eyes clear and found myself sprawled on Sparkle’s lap. She was kneeling in the foam, clasping my head to her breast, and also yelling furiously. “Is not funny! Pebble! Eyes! Must not make fun of a guest…”

The mirth faded awkwardly away. I became aware that my face was positioned on Pebble’s wife in a way that he might not appreciate. My arms, by merest chance, were around her. I looked up, and our eyes met for a moment. Then I tried to struggle loose.

“Tell,” she said, not releasing me.

“I thought it was a tyrant…” I twisted my head around to take a better look at what had so alarmed me.

Of course, the great ones do not look at all like tyrants. They are fish-shaped, black above and white below, with a big triangular fin on their backs, with two paddle arms, and wide, flat tails. They are four or five times the length of a man, some of the males even larger. This one had surfaced by the edge of the platform, holding his head out of the water to discover why the humans were making so much noise. I had seen only the white underside, the eye, and the slightly gaping mouth, full of teeth, grinning ominously. The eye was close to the corner of that mouth and seemed tiny in the huge head, but it was larger than my hand. No, it did not look like a tyrant, but it was very near and unthinkably enormous. The head alone stood as high as a man.

I recoiled with a whimper, and Sparkle clutched me to her even more tightly. “Is Gorf,” she said gently. “Great one. Will not harm you.”

I had made a fool of myself yet again. Worse, I had exposed my timidity, my lack of manhood. No wonder they had all laughed at me—a pilgrim, and a coward? Yet I saw that Sparkle held some sort of authority over them, for again they had obeyed her commands. But a pilgrim should not need to be held like a frightened child, and I should not be in this close contact with a wife. Again I tried to pry free.

“Tell me, what is a tyrant?” Sparkle asked, seemingly unaware of the intimacy. Concern filled her dark eyes—her large, deep, so-beautiful eyes.

“It’s a people eater. Tyrants live in High Summer. But they don’t really look like…like Gorf.”

“Help you up?” Pebble reached down and helped, firmly. He was smiling, but perhaps not quite so widely as usual.

“I was startled,” I muttered as I regained my balance. “I’ve never met a great one before.” A weak excuse.

“But have met tyrant?” Sparkle asked, rising also.

I nodded, and then I stupidly jumped as Gorf piped his ear-shattering, high-pitched queries again. Pebble wheeled around and waded over to the edge of the platform, tugging me along behind him as if about to feed me into that tooth-lined chasm. I tried vainly to resist, until I discovered that Sparkle was coming also.

Pebble reached out to pat the monster. Gorf snorted and gently sounded, the vast head going forward and down, the great fin and back rising, slowly curving over to follow, then the tail for a moment darkening the sky. The crowd rose and fell unevenly as the grove surged.

“Will tell us about tyrant, Golden,” Sparkle said, “at next meal. Frighten all the children, and grownups also?”

“Must meet great ones,” Pebble insisted. “Stand here! Sing them your song, so know who you are. Then shall ask about Great River.” He took Sparkle away and left me to my fate.

So I found myself alone at the edge of the shelf while everyone else stood back, smiling broadly. My voice was not at its best as I first sang my name to the great ones. I was trying not to wonder if I had been put forward as a human sacrifice. Half a dozen great heads rose from the shiny sea to listen, remaining motionless while the beady eyes studied me carefully.

Then the closest of the great ones turned slightly and hurled a whole ocean of water, taking me completely by surprise and washing me over backward. I sat up to find the human audience howling with laughter, the great ones responding in ear-splitting whistles and deep boomings.

“Like you!” Pebble announced as he ran forward and once more pulled me to my feet. “Only do that for people are liking. Now again!”

I saw amusement in his eyes, and challenge. I set my teeth. The first group of great ones sank out of sight, and a dozen others replaced them. This time I kept my voice from quavering, and I was ready for the soaking, as three or four squirted at me.

There were about fifty of the great ones in attendance then, and I had to sing my song four times before I was allowed to rejoin the crowd at the edge of the trees. I wiped my eyes and wrung water from my hair.

Sparkle patted my arm. “All right?” she asked, her smile reassuring.

I nodded and smiled as best I could. Apparently great ones were harmless, but I was still quivering.

Pebble and young Sand and grizzled old Blossoms had now taken my place at the water’s edge; they were having an argument.

“Speak to the great ones,” Sparkle explained.