by Amy Thomson
“How long before his foot grows back?”
“That depends. If everything goes well, he should have enough of a foot to swim with when we reach the sea. It should be completely healed by the time we return.” He brushed her shoulder affectionately. “Thank you for catching those fish. It was very helpful.”
“Thank you, en. I was glad to help. The village has done so much for me.”
“We should link with Moki while we’re stopped here,” Ukatonen said.
Juna nodded, and held out her arms. Linking still bothered her, but it was necessary in order to be a good sitik to Moki. Besides, linking with Moki wasn’t nearly as overwhelming as linking with Anito or Ukatonen. The enkar let her set the pace of the link, and the level of intensity.
Moki and Ukatonen gripped her arms; she felt the pricking of their spurs, and then the link enfolded her.
She followed Ukatonen as he examined Moki’s broken arm. Juna could feel the ends knitting together, though the joins were still fragile. His internal organs showed no signs of their bruising, and his injured allu appeared to be healing. Ukatonen radiated pleasure at Moki’s progress.
When he was done checking on Moki, Ukatonen took Juna on a tour of her digestive system. She tasted the processes of digestion, felt her food get broken down in her stomach, and then further broken down and absorbed in her large and small intestine, until the remaining wastes were excreted. It was an amazingly intricate transformation—food into energy, raw materials, and waste.
They emerged from the link to find that the rain clouds had given way to brilliant sunlight. Juna lifted her face to the sun. The sky had been blanketed with thick, rain-swollen clouds for most of the trip. These rare sun breaks were something to treasure. She laid her computers out to top up their batteries. The villagers began unloading cargo, spreading it out on the beach to dry in the sun, checking the waxed gourds for signs of rot and water damage. Juna helped Ninto and Anito spread out their things. Two gourds of honey had small soft black spots of rot on them. Anito left them out in the sun. When the honey inside was warm and fluid, she poured it into empty gourds. Then they split open the old gourds and licked up the remaining honey from the insides.
“How old are you?” Juna asked Ukatonen as they sucked the last bits of sweetness from their gourds.
Ukatonen ducked his chin and thought for a while. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve lived a long time.” He turned a faint, nostalgic blue-grey “It’s been a good life.”
“Are you older than Anito’s sitik was?” she asked.
Ukatonen flickered yes. “Much older.”
“How much older?” Juna asked. The Tendu vagueness about time was extremely frustrating.
“When I became an enkar, Anito’s sitik’s sitik would not have been bom yet. Before I was an enkar, I was chief elder of my village. I have seen trees like that one”—he pointed at a gnarled and ancient forest giant, heavily bearded with moss—“sprout and grow and die at least six times over.”
Juna turned bright pink with surprise. That would make Ukatonen well over 700 years old.
“You must be one of the oldest of your people.”
Negation flickered, across Ukatonen’s chest. “There are many enkar much older than I am. There are some who have lived ten times as long as I have, and even they are not the oldest of my people.”
“Don’t you”—Juna paused, searching for the word for aging—“grow weaker as you get older?”
Ukatonen’s ears spread wide and his head went back in surprise. “Why should we?” he asked.
“My people only live for about one hundred of your years. When we get to be about eighty years old, our bodies start to fail. We get sick easily, our bones become brittle. We sometimes get forgetful. Eventually we get old and die.”
“You can’t control your bodies well enough to stop this? How do you manage to raise the next generation if you live such short lives?”
“We have children early in our lives. Most people have children in their twenties or thirties. And children become adults much faster among our people. We are considered adults when we are about twenty years old.”
Ukatonen’s amazement deepened. “How can you be ready to raise children at so young an age?”
“It’s the way we have always done things. A thousand years ago most people were lucky to live past forty. People started having children when they were only fourteen or fifteen. Half their children died while they were still babies, so they had six or eight children.”
“All at once?” Ukatonen asked, vividly pink with surprise. “How selfish of them.”
“They needed their children to take care of them when they got old,” Juna explained. “In those days, children were our wealth.”
“But so many young? How could you teach each one properly in so little time? How could you feed them?”
“We worked very hard. We—” Juna searched for words to describe planting crops and raising animals. “We grew big areas of food plants; we kept animals for food, the way you keep narey.”
“Your people are very strange,” Ukatonen said.
“My people are very different,” Juna agreed. She wondered how she could explain war and famine to Ukatonen. Had the Tendu ever fought a war? Had they ever starved? She looked away. The thought of asking such questions of these peaceful people shamed her. She remembered the refugee camp, remembered her stomach cramping with hunger. She darkened with shame as she recalled stealing food from others for herself and Toivo after their mother died. She had done it to survive, but that didn’t excuse the terrible things she had done.
Juna looked up as the sun momentarily dimmed. A heavy bank of clouds was closing in. The villagers began gathering up and reloading their cargo. She helped Anito and the others load their raft. She looked at the Tendu, their moist skins gleaming in the pearly light that heralded the coming rain. Their lives were so different from hers. How could she ever explain humans to them?
The next day they stopped and portaged around a large waterfall. It took the rest of that day and the next to disassemble the rafts and carry them and their cargo around the waterfall, and then reassemble and reload them. Once past the waterfall, the character of the river changed, becoming wider, slower, and more placid. The few stretches of white water they encountered were relatively easy and safe.
Anito and Ukatonen continued teaching Juna about linking. By the time the river broadened and separated into marshy channels near the delta, she had learned to heal small cuts and abrasions on her own body. When they entered the tidal mangrove swamps near the coast, they were set upon by millions of tiny black biting insects. Anito showed Juna how to synthesize an insect repellent in her allu-a, and to adjust her skin so that the saltier water of the ocean would not burn her. At last, after several days of rowing through placid channels, they heard the sound of surf. The trees opened out and they found themselves in a wide bay.
Ukatonen dove off the raft, and vanished beneath the waves. The villagers waited, watching the water intently. All was quiet except for the water lapping against the rafts, and the distant sound of surf. Suddenly the water ahead began to boil. A sleek green shape leaped from the water, followed by several others. As they approached, the rafts drew closer together, and there was a rising flicker of excitement among the villagers. Then the creatures surrounded the rafts. To Juna’s surprise, Ninto reached down and helped one of them climb aboard. It stood with difficulty on its short, stumpy legs.
“My name is Munato. I will escort you to our island,” the creature said in skin speech. “Do you have any honey?”
Chapter 17
A quiet ripple of amusement flowed over Anito at the new creature’s surprise when the lyali-Tendu spoke.
“What kind of creature is that?” Eerin asked as Ninto greeted the sea person, giving him a generous chunk of honeycomb.
“He’s a lyali-Tendu, a sea person,” Anito explained. “They are Tendu who live in the sea.”
“But he looks so
different!”
Anito studied the lyali-Tendu. True, Munato had prominent gill flaps and short arms with long, heavily webbed fingers and wide, flipper-like feet, but he had the red stinging stripes of a Tendu. His face was elongated, streamlined for swimming, but his eyes were the same as hers. His blood tasted saltier, but the life-rhythms were the same. He sang aloud to communicate with the other lyali-Tendu far off in the sea, but he also spoke skin speech. How could Eerin doubt that he was another Tendu?
Munato glanced curiously at Eerin. “Who is that?” he asked.
“This is Eerin,” Anito told her. “She is a new creature. Her people live far away. They left her behind by mistake.”
A compassionate cloud of dark ochre passed over Munato’s skin. “It’s hard to be away from your people.”
“They’ll come back for her,” Anito reassured him.
“There have been a lot of strange things happening lately. The sea people saw a great stone strike the water. It rose up and floated like a giant piece of driftwood. Then it moved through the water with a lot of noise. I heard that it beached near Lyanan, and the creatures inside it caused a lot of damage.”
Eerin darkened with shame. “Those were my people,” she said. “They didn’t know that the forest belonged to somebody. They’ll repair the damage.”
“Eerin is already helping the people of Lyanan replant the forest,” Anito added, feeling a bit defensive and worried. She had enough problems without hostility from the sea people.
“I heard that there was some kind of digging race,” Munato said. “Were you there when it happened?”
“Eerin was in the race. She won it.”
Munato’s ears lifted and he flushed pink in surprise. “Can you swim as well as you dig?”
Eerin darkened again*. “I doubt that I can swim as well as you can.”
“She can swim well enough,” Anito told him.
A ripple of amusement danced across Munato’s chest. “It’s easy for you ruwe-Tendu to say that. You spend all your time in the trees. Come swim with me, five-fingers,” he said to Eerin. He dove cleanly into the water. Eerin looked inquisitively at Anito.
“Go ahead,” she said. “It’s safe.”
Eerin dove in after Munato. He swam in playful circles around her, then dove deep. Eerin plunged in after him, but popped back up to the surface much sooner than the lyali-Tendu. Munato surfaced, looking disappointed.
“She’s not much of a diver, but she can swim well enough,” he admitted, lying on his back in the water so they could see his words. “I’ll go get the rest of my people.”
He dove again. A few minutes later, six other sea people joined him. Ninto, Baha, and Anito threw tow ropes over the side. Then they picked up their oars and began rowing while the lyali-Tendu pulled the raft through the water.
It was well past sunset when they reached the island, a black bulk against the deep blue, star-studded night sky. Anito heard the crash of the waves well before she saw the white gleam of the beach and the faint phosphorescence of the breakers. They shipped their oars, and allowed the sea people to pull them ashore, riding a big wave that pushed them high up onto the beach, where several other rafts already waited.
Trading started early the next morning. Anito laid her trade goods out on the beach with the other villagers. The lyali-Tendu squatted in the sand and haggled. Anito drove the hardest bargains she could, but they had arrived late this year, and it was difficult to make a decent trade.
Ukatonen came by late in the day, and squatted beside her as she argued over the worth of a fishnet. She finally let it go for sixteen sheets of yarram and a string of dried fish. She gave the lyali-Tendu the net and he gave her a stack of tallies.
“You traded well,” the enkar told her when the sea person left. “I saw Miato trade a net like that for only twelve sheets and a small container of preserved fish eggs.”
“Yes, but it’s not enough!” Anito said. “Even with all the honey I brought, I’ve only got a hundred and sixty sheets of yarram, two cakes of dried su ink, a string of dried fish, two gourds of salt, and a hollow reed full of guano. Last year Ilto brought home five hundred sheets of yarram, five bladders full of fish paste, eight strings of dried fish, and ten gourds of salt. And we could have brought even more if we had found a way to carry it.”
“The others aren’t doing much better,” Ukatonen soothed.
Anito looked away, deep brown with shame. “I know. It’s my fault. If they hadn’t waited for me to come back from the coast, then they would have arrived earlier and made better trades.”
“Every village has bad years,” Ukatonen told her. “Your village is very prosperous. One bad year won’t hurt.”
“But it’s my fault,” Anito insisted.
“You could arrange a mating with the lyali-Tendu.”
“A mating? But it’s not mating season!”
“So? Other villages do it all the time, and you’ll get a lot of trade goods,” Ukatonen pointed out. “You hold the eggs inside you until the time is right. You’re young, low status, and Narmolom is short on males. You’ll have a better choice of mates here. Besides, it will bring new genes into your area. It’s good to mate with the lyali-Tendu. It keeps the sea people and the land people from drifting too far apart.”
“What do I lose?” Anito asked.
“You won’t be able to mate during the usual mating season.”
“How much would I be able to get in trade goods for a mating?”
“If you act quickly, and drive a hard bargain, you could bring back at least another four hundred sheets of yarram plus other trade goods. With both Eerin and Moki, you can carry back more than Ilto did, enough to repay Ninto and the other villagers for waiting for you.”
“Why are you encouraging me to do this?” Anito asked suspiciously.
“There are many reasons,” Ukatonen said. “You are going to be an enkar. I want you to take this opportunity to learn more about the lyali-Tendu. A mating will give you a connection with this band, one that you can use when you are an enkar. Also, I don’t want you deeply indebted to the other villagers. It will be easier when it’s time to leave Narmolom.”
Anito looked away. Ukatonen brushed her shoulder with his knuckles.
“You would have had to leave, even if you hadn’t asked for that judgment for Moki. The new creatures are very important, Anito. When Eer-in’s people return, things will change. We must be ready for that. You must be ready for it.” A cloud of regret misted his skin. “I wish there was more time. I wish you could stay longer with your village. It would be better if you could be more experienced as an elder before you become an enkar, but that won’t be possible. I promise that I won’t take you away from Narmolom until I have to.”
“How long will I have?”
“A year, perhaps two. I want to take you away this year during mating season to meet other enkar. If you mate now, you won’t miss your chance this year. It’s your first year as an elder, and I don’t want to deprive you of a first mating, even if it isn’t with your own villagers.” He touched her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Anito.”
Anito looked away for a long moment. Her skin was deep grey with grief. She had looked forward to mating with others in her village. It was one of the few things that made becoming an elder acceptable. Now Ukatonen was taking even that away. She could tell, by the gentle, soft edges of his words, that he truly regretted what he was asking her to do. A sudden surge of anger rose in her. Her life was being taken away from her, and she was helpless to stop it.
She looked over at Eerin, who sat with Moki among a crowd of inquisitive lyali-Tendu. This was all her fault. If Ilto hadn’t found Eerin, then none of this would have happened. She might still be Ilto’s bami, preparing to take her place as an elder of Narmolom. How far away and remote her life as a bami seemed now.
Ukatonen must have followed her gaze, and seen her flare of anger and resentment. He touched her on the shoulder. “I had as much to do with your becomin
g an enkar as she did,” he told her. “It’s not such a bad life, really.”
Anito looked away from Eerin. “I’ll arrange a mating with the lyali-Tendu, en,” she said, shifting the conversation back to safer ground, “but I ask that you not take me away from Narmolom until I have a chance to mate with my own people.”
“I’ll try, kene,” Ukatonen told her, “but I can’t promise anything.”
Anito went to the chief of the band of lyali-Tendu and negotiated with her for a mating. She bargained shrewdly, receiving four hundred twenty sheets of yarram, six large bladders of fish paste, three gourds of salt, four strings of dried fish, and a pouch full of fish hooks made from the spines of a deep sea fish.
Once the arrangements for the mating were concluded, the rest of Anito’s trading went much better. Not surprisingly, most of her trades were concluded with males, who almost gave away their goods in hopes that she might favor them during the mating. Anito enjoyed the attention but promised nothing.
They would travel home with heavy packs. Fortunately Eerin could carry more than a Tendu. Anito planned on giving a lot of what she had gotten to the other villagers, canceling most of the obligations acquired on this trip.
The villagers and the lyali-Tendu finished their trading by mid-afternoon of the next day, and began preparing a huge feast of celebration. They gathered in a semicircle on the beach. Large flat shells were piled high with traditional dishes, symbolizing the unity of the land and sea Tendu. There was fish and seaweed, flavored with honey thinned and seasoned with seawater, and soaked grain mixed with salty fish roe. In addition to the traditional dishes, there were baskets brimming with live crustaceans, platters of sliced fruit from trees on the island, and a huge female intasti, neatly butchered and arranged in its large shell, with its freshly laid eggs heaped around the meat.
They ate until their stomachs bulged. Then baskets of glows were laid out in a circle on the sand. Drums, flutes, and shell horns were taken out. The performers strapped on rattles made from gourds and seashells, and donned headdresses and masks. When the bustle of preparation was over, there was a moment of silence; then Ukatonen blew a long, deep, haunting note on a shell horn. It made the red stinging stripes tighten on Anito’s back.
