Contents
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Epilogue
Before you go...
The Flows of Creation
Acknowledgments
Copyright
Cradle of Sea and Soil
(Islandborn Book 1)
By Bernie Anés Paz
Chapter 1
Colibrí decided that being a good mother also meant being a liar, for it seemed that love showed the world as it should be, and not as it actually was.
I don’t want to do this. She frowned. The bohío she had built with her own hands was at their backs, far enough from the village to observe the propriety of exile, but still close enough to share its heartbeat.
Her son stood a little ahead, staring out across the sea of the great archipelago that was their home. He had asked her for his Reclaiming, insisting that he was now old enough to begin making his way toward adulthood.
Colibrí sighed and eyed the ears and tail—borrowed from the noble island coyote, true, but even so—that marked him as Halfborn, just as her own ears and tail did. Proof that they carried a spirit that was half human and half… well, no one really knew, which was why they were instead defined by the human half that was missing.
“Come here, Naru,” she said.
Narune turned and moved to her side, his tail curving in the air like a smiling moon. Sometimes it behaved more like that of an ocelot than a coyote.
She handed him a spear. “Are you certain you’re ready?”
“Yes,” he said with a false calm, and gave her a nod.
She smiled at the eagerness brewing like a storm beneath his facade. That storm had been nurtured by many moons of fantasizing, secret practice, and curious wonder. It was still too soon in her mind, but then if Colibrí had her way, it would always be too soon.
The truth was, survival was everything on the islands; life here became fierce, clever, and strong in a hurry—or it died. Their children were no different, no matter what she wanted to believe.
Though maybe the Guardian would answer if she prayed for Naru to remain her sproutling for a little longer…
“Having second thoughts?” Narune asked with a laugh. “Or are you still aching from all that chicha?”
Colibrí made a face. “How are you not? You drank more than I did!”
“Eh, too excited,” he said with a careless wave of his hand. “But I don’t mind going tomorrow, if you’re feeling unwell?”
And how would you, prancing about with a spear, gushing questions about the life of a warrior, help any? Colibrí rolled her eyes. “Oh? What would we eat?”
“We still have plenty of cassava and guayaba left. A little dried fish, but I could catch us some more.”
She shook her head, though the thought of allowing him to distract himself proved tempting. “The Flows of Creation are strong today. Do you feel them?” she asked. When she focused on them, the Flows felt like ocean spray against her skin. “The sea will be restless.”
Narune paused, then nodded. “The forest will be restless, too,” he pointed out, and that seemed to only excite him more. The spear she had handed him was trembling in his hands.
“True,” Colibrí admitted. She considered waiting for the Flows of Creation to calm a little, but then again there wasn’t really ever a time when the forest wasn’t dangerous. Besides, it would be nice to eat something other than fish today. She smiled at her son. “Fetch us a good boar, and maybe I’ll honor you with more of my chicha.”
“You always send me to fetch your jars,” Narune said. “How do you know I don’t already have my own stash buried somewhere, eh?”
“Because you wouldn’t be here if I thought you were skimming any of the only thing I have left that brings me joy.”
“The only thing?”
“Well, sex and hunting, too.”
He made a face.
She moved to grab her own spear from where it leaned against their bohío and then thumped it against the ground. With her free hand she reached out, lifted her son’s chin, and grinned as he raised an eyebrow. “You bring me joy too, occasionally, and you might again do so today. If you fetch me a boar for your Reclaiming. I can only guide you.”
“I know,” he said.
“Then you also know we won’t have any meat today if you fail, eh? No disaster, but...”
He puffed his chest out, indignant, and she watched as his ears perked and his tail twitched.
Even with these additions, Colibrí and her son were still like their kin in most ways; their flesh mirrored the rich brown of soil, and their hair the hue of shadows to better conceal them in the forest. Their eyes weren’t bright like the foreign scholars, but instead soft like the color of nutshells, made to blend among the root-roads.
Yet they were also different from the Trueborn in ways that weren’t so obvious; they were smaller and thinner and would hold on to the deceptive appearance of youth far longer than was appropriate. It was also a little difficult to tell whether they were men or women at a glance, and yet, despite all this, they tended to not only weigh more than most, but were also stronger.
Though still not stronger than the forest’s predators.
“Lead on, then,” she said to Narune with a sigh.
He nodded and paused briefly to gaze at the distant village, which sat along the coast at the mouth of the mighty River Guanasa, then took his spear in his hands and made for the tree line.
The forest canopy usurped the sky even from this distance; the trees were not the same trees supposedly found beyond the archipelago, but true and honest tree-lords. They were massive and perched on their roots like spiders, and those roots continued on to form most of the forest’s tangle of roads, layers, and endless corridors. They even stretched across the sea to bind all the islands together like veins and arteries.
Narune walked into the gloom without fear, spear ready. Colibrí was pleased to see him maintain good warrior discipline by keeping himself silent and his eyes in motion as their sandals pressed down against the moist detritus. It was hot, and the air was thick and sticky, but it was always like this, even in the deep shade of the forest.
They were both topless against the heat, Colibrí’s hair falling to the small of her back in a simple warrior braid while Narune’s shoulder-length hair was pulled into a thinner braid down the side. Below their bellies they wore the tight thigh-long breizo of warriors with knife harnesses threaded around them. Even dressed as they were, however, beads of sweat still ran along their backs and foreheads.
Narune eventually found some tracks, and together they followed them up the curve of a root that took them onto the middle layers of the forest, a suspended network of root-roads, limestone, and tangled islands. They walked it as confidently as though it was the forest floor, following what she was certain was a boar, to her absolute joy.
But
she wasn’t certain her son knew. “Well?” she asked. “Are we going for a pleasant stroll, or do you see something?”
“That boar you wanted,” he said, then pointed to an entirely different set of tracks.
She frowned. “Eh?”
He knelt and tilted his head. “It’s very large. A very fat boar!”
The only other tracks she saw at a glance were light and round, the footwork of carabaz. They were little adorable prancing things with antlers that devoured everything and somehow climbed everywhere, despite their unwieldy hooves. Good eating, but quick and mischievous. Difficult to catch.
She knelt beside him and looked carefully, searching beyond the commonplace print of the carabaz. She did see somewhat older tracks, deep and heavyset. A boar after all, maybe, but the size and spacing were odd, too large for even an ancient beast gorged on the Flows. The warrior in her tensed at this realization, but she didn’t know why; halja were slain long before they could ever come this close to the village…
Still, her gut said: You are stupid. Go home, drink chicha until you are senseless. Narune will be angry, but he will also be alive. Colibrí was good friends with her gut and knew it only wanted to look out for her—and itself, obviously—but this time, maybe it was a mother’s worry and not her gut. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference.
She waved her free hand around. “Very good. Can you tell where it went, then?”
Her son continued to hold good warrior discipline, turned so that he could watch the parts of the forest she couldn’t see, but his expression still twisted with thought.
Colibrí nodded in silent approval; it wasn’t easy being forever ready to fight or flee. It was harder still to focus on every little thing while poised that way, and truly challenging to do it all while also tracking, scouting, and leading.
They did it anyway, because they were inhabitants of the forest too, and the sole mandate of the ever-watching tree-lords was survive.
Narune obeyed, like any other warrior. He examined the tracks and listened to the signs and the logic they whispered without ever truly taking his eyes off the forest around them. Eventually, he gestured and then moved, his focus shifting toward the hunt. She followed him without interrupting.
They walked the root-roads for a time, silent as they prowled from shadow to shadow. Other things came and went; the rasp of leaves as a barbed hunting plant thought them too great a challenge, even with its venom. The loud buzz of warrior wasps whose stingers were almost as large as the spear in her hand. The hushed breaths of moss wolves as they lay hidden in a tangle of greenery and frayed bits of root, too high to bury themselves in detritus but still making good use of the fur that had earned them their names.
Colibrí smiled with pride as Narune looked for carrion or signs of battle, considering that the wolves might have met the boar before them. Seeing none, he moved around the pack’s ambush, taking a more treacherous side road, and noted that the boar had taken the same path. They followed the tracks, ears perked and flicking against the ever-present sound of birds and coquí, frogs that shouted co-quí, co-quí, co-quí without pause. Their numbers were so great, they were the loudest chorus by far.
Then they stumbled onto their prey and Colibrí’s gut laughed with derision.
An abomination in the guise of a boar stood motionless before them—a halja. The word meant without spirit or purpose, which was why this one was called an Empty Boar. Fittingly, the monster looked like a husk made from crisscrossing cords. The cords were gray, stringy and hard like dried sinew.
In her panic she grabbed at Narune’s back and her nails left angry red marks. He winced and shuffled toward her. When he was near, she clutched his arm and invoked the mysterious bond all mothers, Halfborn or not, shared with their Halfborn children. It reunited them, like when Narune had been a part of her, and his blood had been her blood.
We need to go, she said, speaking into his mind. Her fingers dug into his arm even though a light touch would have been enough.
Narune shook his head. His face was flushed, eyes wide, body trembling as he prepared for battle and caged fear. We’re oathbound to face it, Mother. Look how close it is to the village!
I’m oathbound to face it, she snapped. You can’t yet hold oaths.
Well, I still won’t leave you, Narune said. The defiance surprised her a little. I’m earning my Reclaiming today! That means I’ll be close enough to becoming a warrior to fight as one.
Oh, Guardian forgive her and may her days remain stormless, because in that moment Colibrí almost invoked the darker side of their bond: she could command him to remain in place and, for a time, Narune would obey the compulsion no matter how hard he resisted.
But his face showed not the slightest bit of fear and he didn’t recoil from her touch to protect himself. His only concern was for her, his trust absolute. Colibrí sighed.
She didn’t steal away his will.
Narune, please, she instead begged.
He stuck out his chin. Fine. I’ll stay behind this time. But not the next, and not if I see you fall to danger.
She squeezed his arm in gratitude, already missing the sproutling that had been content to tug at her braid, and who had allowed her to be his entire world.
Colibrí parted from her son and went to face the halja, fear thick within, which was reassuring. She wasn’t yet so war-broken as to forget to fear halja.
The abomination remained still. For a moment she hoped it wouldn't even react as she slew it, which sometimes happened with the strange creatures. But then the halja turned with unnatural suddenness, obeying stimuli and rules that were different for it than the natural world. An eyeless face peered at her, then turned beyond her.
The halja stiffened as she thrust her spear into it and tore the sinew-like cords. The area around the wound began to crumble and a scentless plume filled the air, thick like scattered bone dust.
Then the Empty Boar charged—at Narune.
The halja’s sudden advance caught them both by surprise, but she had trained Narune well enough that his muscles remembered what to do all on their own. Colibrí rushed after the creature, her heart pounding already, and for all the wrong reasons.
Narune’s spear snapped out and slid along one of the halja’s right legs as the monster just barely missed gouging him with its fake tusks, and then he used the halja’s own momentum to continue on to the next leg. Plumes of gray dust billowed and the halja’s legs warped and bent. It should have tipped over, but no, not a halja. It stood impossibly on two legs and then flailed its body with a hop.
The Empty Boar caught Narune’s shoulder and almost sent him tumbling off the root-road. Her heart throbbed as she watched him claw the root and struggle to maintain his grip, one leg and some of his lower half hanging over the ledge. His other hand still clutched his spear, which was wonderful warrior discipline but, seas aflame, it was about to cost the foolish boy his life.
Her ears went flat and her tail whipped side to side with the force of her thundering heart. Colibrí snarled and soared onto its back, her sandals finding purchase in the many holes and empty spaces. She stabbed and tore at the halja with her spear, again and again, filling the air around her with billowing clouds.
The halja attempted to throw her, but there was no working of joined muscle and bone, no steering of a panicked mind, none of the motions made by warm blood or moist breaths. Nothing of life.
Narune scrambled back onto his feet. He whistled, then moved toward the halja.
“Run!” she shouted at him, eyes on the halja, her spear never pausing its work. Sweat streamed down her face from the effort, but the halja refused to fall apart.
The creature paused to watch her son for a moment, then lunged. Narune spun back before whistling again, and she almost fell when she realized he had discarded his spear—
—but she understood what he intended, even if it filled her with a mother’s fury. He ducked and danced while she tore apart its bizarre hide because there
wasn't anything else to do; it didn’t have blood to spill or precious innards to sink her spear into. Hope flared for a moment as Narune’s gambit worked. Until, of course, it didn't.
The halja caught him with an unnerving twisting of its body while on a single foot. It slammed him to the ground, tusks bearing down on him, and he cried out in pain. His long knife was already in his hand.
Panic lent strength to Colibrí’s strikes. With each heartbeat she feared seeing Narune finally splattering into gore.
Then the Empty Boar shuddered and went limp. Colibrí fell through it, coughing as dust filled her mouth. The halja collapsed around her, parts of it crumbling at different intervals until all that was left was a plume that not even the faint sunlight could breach.
Narune helped her to her feet while he coughed, his eyes wide, his face like a storm. Worry and excitement, thrill and lingering fear.
They eyed each other, then Narune whooped and she slapped the bare half of his thigh.
“Oi!” she cried. “Go ahead and draw predators right to us!”
He grinned. “So, did I earn my Reclaiming?” He gestured toward the dust still in the air with his knife. “Our prey turned out to be a halja, but I did track it, and I even helped you kill it!”
She narrowed her gaze, but his grin only grew wider. “Yes, beloved fool of mine,” Colibrí said, then made a face when he thumped her shoulder in the way of warriors and waggled his eyebrows. She sighed, then bowed, free arm outward, palm up. “I bear witness to your growth and acknowledge, at this moment and place, the Reclaiming of your story. Let it be your own, and no longer merely a part of mine.”
“You've nothing to worry about,” he said with evident glee. “My story will only inspire awe.”
She shook her head, but then drew him close, rewarding him with a smile bursting with pride.
Colibrí, coward that she was, had left some of the words tradition demanded from her unspoken: So begins the tale of your war against death. May you fight well.
They were similar to the words that crowned every birth, words that described who they were beyond the soil of their bodies and the water of their spirits. Life was a battle, and victory meant survival. When they eventually fell—whether against the halja, the forest, the swirling storms, or so many other things—their glory was tallied through each scar and the stories they stitched together.
Cradle of Sea and Soil Page 1
