by Sharon Lee
She drew back from her meditations, and brought his physical seeming under scrutiny.
The form he manifested was a pleasing echo of his power—strong, supple, and sure. His business upon the boat was a harvest of fishes—a duty she had known well, and often performed, in that time before she had become a goddess. For the doing of the work, he had stripped to the waist, showing a broad, bronzed chest, trim waist, and hard belly. She approved both the form and the use of it. Indeed, she was drawn…almost, she—loved.
That, she thought, was the action of the sea upon her. It gave her a new respect for the goblins, that they could continue to hate him against all of the sea’s persuasions.
Watching him work his nets, she cast aside her plan to wrest this sea from the Borgan and make it her own. The sea would never love her as it loved him, though it would, because it did, treasure those things that the Borgan treasured.
To succeed, then, the plan must be to become the Borgan’s foremost treasure. It must not be a rape, nor a battle—nor, as the goblins hoped for, a murder. No. It must be—it could only be—a marriage. She, who had been solitary in her power, who had shared with no other power, not even with her own, her beloved demons…
Yet, if she would have this sea for her own, then…she must, at first, share in the Borgan’s power. Later…conditions might favor a reordering.
If she had any hesitation in adopting this change of plan, it was that the sea’s passion might overwhelm her own necessity. It was, so she admitted to herself, a risk; however, it was not a very great one. She had been a goddess, and with care and cunning, she would be a goddess once more. For such a reward, she could be patient. And perhaps, she thought, watching the Borgan upon the boat…perhaps it would be interesting to love, for a little time, at least, without reservation.
A marriage, then. It was decided.
Obedient to the conditions of its debt, the shark had remained nearby. She called it to her now, and cast the web of her will about it, holding it quiescent while she drank of its energies. Her reserves were yet low, and for this, she required strength. Still, she did not sup the shark entirely, but left it to drift, the spark of life still burning. Perhaps it would make a recovery, if none of its kindred found it soon.
Strengthened by the shark’s essence, she placed herself upon the deck of the boat.
The Borgan did not look around from his net, though she was certain he was aware of her. She had chosen to manifest in robes of sea green and aqua, extravagant sleeves lined in white. Her hair was an ebony crown, into which coral, pearl, and shell had been woven. He must see at once that she matched him in beauty, and was in every way worthy of him.
“There you are, then,” the Borgan said, swinging the net over the hold, muscles moving, sweetly pleasing, beneath red-brown skin.
“Yes,” she said, matching his tone of unsurprised composure. “I am here.”
“You kill that shark?”
She raised disdainful eyebrows.
“Must you ask?”
The net emptied, he at last turned to look at her. His eyes were dark, his face austere. The long braid that fell over his shoulder was as black as her own hair, inter-woven with shells, beads, and other small items of power.
“In fact, I don’t have to ask. I’m curious about your motivation.”
She glanced down, feigning a pretty confusion, and looked back at him with a simulation of shyness.
“I am the guest of the sea. Shall I show my gratitude by murdering her children?”
“So it’s manners, is it?”
Her smile was shy, but the robe moved seductively as she stepped toward him.
“I have been well schooled, in manners…and in other skills.”
“Stop,” he said, and she did, finding that she no longer wished to approach him.
“What’s your name?” he asked, and she laughed—a true laugh, for surely he knew better. Perhaps he thought to disarm her, to convince her of his ignorance. Or perhaps, she thought, her amusement fading as she stood, held still and content by his will—perhaps he sought to find the limits of his control over her.
She lifted her chin and glared at him.
There had been a time when her displeasure had the power to kill. The Borgan…only shrugged.
“Is it hard to move in that thing? This is a fishing boat, in case you hadn’t noticed. Not much use for silk here.”
So, he saw her as foolish, and unequal. That would not do. After all, they shared something very important.
The formal robes flowed and melted until she stood in plain cotton tunic and long pants, her hair rolled out of the way, into a knot at the top of her head.
“This is what I wore,” she said, “when I fished on my father’s boat.”
“Looks a deal more useful.”
“I will,” she said diffidently, “need to learn what is proper here.”
“No need at all. Best thing for you is to go home, deah—back to the Land of Wave and Water. This is no good place for you to settle, and I’m not just talking about this piece of water. You know you’re in the Changing Land?”
“Yes,” she said, and forbore to explain the myriad reasons why she could not, could never, go home.
“Then you know you need to leave, before you take damage.”
She considered him, a noble man, and, as she read it, genuinely concerned for her well-being. It would perhaps be advantageous, now, to tell some bare edge of the truth, and make an appeal to the noble heart.
“I have been here, imprisoned, for how long a time, I do not know. Perhaps I am changed; certainly, I am weakened. I have enemies at home. Please, may I not remain for…a few days more, as a guest, to build my strength?”
The noble heart responded; she saw his hesitation, and hid her elation, standing before him docile and patient. She felt his power brush over her, tender as sea foam.
“All right,” he said. “Twenty days more, to build your strength. The sea will nourish you that long, so you don’t have to feed on any more of my sharks.”
She bowed.
“I am grateful,” she said.
“Just mind your manners,” he told her, turning back to his nets. “Go on, now; I’ve got work to do.”
There was nothing else to do at this moment but demonstrate obedience. And so, she reentered the sea.
* * * * *
It was cooler under leaf.
As I walked the path the Wood opened for me, I began to hear music. Guitar, and something else—piano? A dozen steps down the path and a woman’s voice asked the musical question, “Are you going to Scarborough Fair?” with a man’s voice joining in the next line, “Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.”
Music and the lyrics grew louder as the path led me onward. Not a piano, I decided. Maybe a harp? Mandolin?
The path ended at the edge of the clearing. I stopped where I was.
Not a harp, Kate, I told myself, dulcimer—remember?
My mother’s concentration was on her instrument, and she smiled as she sang.
Andy’s concentration was on my mother. He’d left his smoked glasses off, and his bright orange gaze never left her face. His expression was—well. I’ve never actually seen a man sight water after wandering days in the desert, so I’ll just say that Andy looked like a man who held his heart’s desire…
…and knew all too well how fragile it was.
They sounded good together, I thought, and as far as I could tell, Mother wasn’t rusty at all.
I sighed, watching them—and sighed again when Nessa turned her head to meet Andy’s eyes and they finished off the last line together, their instruments taking the music through the finishing arabesques while they gazed at each other. I couldn’t see my mother’s face, but Andy looked like he was about to break into tears.
The last note faded. The musicians were still gazing at each other. My mother put her hammers down on her instrument; swayed toward Andy—and it occurred to me that I’d better announce myself.
I applauded, and whistled.
Andy jumped, orange eyes flashing as he looked across the clearing. Mother turned more slowly, smiling—but the trees would have told her that I was on my way.
“Katie! What do you think?”
“I think you’re ready for the Big Time,” I said, moving into the clearing proper. “Here Andy was telling me that you were afraid you’d forgotten how to play. It sounds to me like you never had a day away.”
“I’m not as rusty as I thought I’d be,” she said, picking up the hammers. She frowned down at them, then threw me a smile. “But I am rusty.”
“I think we did fine,” Andy said. “The finish was a bit ragged, but nothing practice can’t cure. We might try something simpler, if you just want to get comfortable again.”
“Something simpler?” She threw him a grin, raised her hammers, and brought them down.
I blinked, my ear confused for a moment by the dulcimer’s voice, and then I had it, and came in on the line.
“In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight!”
Andy joined in, orange eyes slitted in amusement. He drummed his fingers lightly against the belly of his guitar, for the counterpoint, and my mother wove a bright embroidery of Weeheeheehee dee heeheeheehee around the chorus, hammering her dulcimer the while. We sang all three verses, and every damn one of the wimowehs, Andy raised his hand, brought it down, and we all stopped at once, the Wood around echoing with our music.
And then with our laughter.
“We gotta bring Kate onboard!” Andy was able to say eventually.
“Kate,” I answered, somewhat unsteadily, “is not a musician.”
“Nothin’ the matter with your voice. If you feel like you gotta have an instrument, we’ll just hand you a tambourine, and you rattle it when the mood strikes.”
My mother didn’t say anything. I noticed that, and I didn’t look at her as I shook my head, still grinning.
“I’ve got enough on my plate right now, but maybe I’ll take you up on it, after the park’s sold.”
“What?” Mother was interested now. I turned to face her.
“New Jersey headquarters has put the land the park rests on up for sale. We’re finishing out the current Season, but then all the owner-operators have to shift their rides.”
She was staring at me, lips parted and eyes wide. I glanced beyond her, to Andy, who stepped forward to put his hand on her shoulder.
“The midway’s already been sold,” I told him, completing the unloading of bad news as succinctly as possible. “New owner takes it up on September fifth.”
“We should have bought the land,” Mother said, “but by the time we realized—it had been bought…by the company—” she threw a glance over her shoulder, to Andy. “The first company—you remember? Before the fire.”
“I remember, sure.” He smiled at her, his fingers gently kneading her shoulder.
“What’s going to happen?” Mother asked me.
“Still working on figuring that out. Twelve to Twelve—the citizen’s committee I told you about?”
She nodded.
“We’re taking suggestions—that’s what I’ve been doing this morning, in fact. The two best ideas are to have the town buy the parcel and lease it back to the operators at a per-year—or the operators buy the land themselves.”
“They’re going to be asking two legs and an arm up to the elbow for that land,” Andy said. “Condos right on the ocean, every one with a view—” He cast bright orange glance in my direction. “Or are they building a hospital?”
I laughed. Andy shook his head, his smile wry.
“Anyway,” I looked back to Mother, “how’s Gran?”
“Not out of the woods, yet,” she said, and gave me a wan smile. “She’ll want to hear this, though.”
“No hurry,” I pointed out. “There’s still eight weeks ’til Season ends.”
Mother sighed.
“The thing I never could get used to, in Sempeki,” she said slowly, “was the…changelessness. I mean—events would take place—there might be a new Aeronymous, but nothing ever really changed. It was eerie.”
I nodded, though I’d grown up knowing nothing else.
“So,” my mother continued, “I’m grateful for it—for the fact that things progress, here at home. That people can influence new outcomes; that we change. I just wish, sometimes…”
“That it didn’t happen so fast, or so frequently?” I nodded. “My friend Peggy has the same complaint. She wants to dial the speed back. I don’t think we get to say how fast, though.”
Mother smiled. “Then I suppose we’d best hold on tight.”
She raised her hand and placed it over Andy’s, where it rested on her shoulder, her face softening.
Don’t wear out your welcome, Kate, I told myself and gave them a collective nod.
“I’d better be on my way—it’s errand day. I’ll leave you guys to practice.”
“We’ll tell you when we have our first gig. You and Borgan can come cheer us on.”
“Deal,” I said, including Andy in my smile.
The Wood opened a path for me and I left them, standing so close that they only threw one shadow.
* * *
I was weaving through the vehicles in Gentleman Johnnie’s parking lot when my cell phone gave tongue. Fishing it out of my pocket, I flipped it open.
“Hey, Jess.”
“Kate—sorry this’s gotta be quick. We got a meeting of all the Twelve to Twelvers tomorrow morning at the Garden Cafe, six o’clock sharp. There’ll be coffee.”
“There’d better be coffee,” I said, with mock ferocity, but Jess had already hung up.
Chapter Eighteen
Saturday, July 8
Low Tide 3:13 P.M. EDT
Sunset 8:25 P.M.
Ethrane was on smoothie duty at the Mango when I stopped by. I knew it was Ethrane because the land told me so. What I saw was a slender woman who stood a little above the Maine average height, brown-skinned, and long-fingered. She’d kept the dreads, but changed the color from green to brown. She turned her head to look at me—and, I thought, to show off the broad, handsome face, in which a pair of subtly angled swamp-green eyes glittered with amusement. She smiled, showing teeth that were neither too white, nor too sharp. The right eyetooth was slightly out of line with its fellows; the effect was adorable.
“Looking good,” I told her, and she laughed, deep and rich.
“Felsic said you were curious.”
“Worse than a cat,” I admitted. “I appreciate the effort, but there’s no need to spend extra energy just for me.”
“I disagree,” she said slowly. “We’d gotten lax, some of us, and depended too much on mundane folks’ willful blindness. That’s powerful magic, but it’s best to depend on yourself, and not leave important things to chance.”
“Hadn’t thought about it in precisely those terms,” I said. “But I agree—depending on someone else is never a good idea.”
Ethrane’s charmingly crooked smile flashed.
“That wasn’t what I said,” she murmured.
I heard footsteps behind me.
Ethrane heard them, too. The green eyes lifted over my shoulder.
“Customers.”
“Customers come first,” I said. “Peggy in back?”
“To you, yes.”
I slipped into the booth; as I opened the door to the office, I heard Ethrane sing out, “Welcome to The Last Mango, best smoothies in Archers Beach! Today’s special is blueberry-banana.”
Peggy was sitting at the beat-up metal desk, her attention split between the laptop and the top page of a three-inch stack of tally pages.
I scuffed my sneaker against the concrete floor, so I wouldn’t startle her. She turned her head and grinned.
“Archer! What’s the news?”
“Well,” I said, coming ’round to sit in the rickety wooden visitor’s chair, “the fresh news is that there’s a meeting
of Archers Beach Twelve to Twelve tomorrow morning at the crack of dawn, near enough, at the Garden Cafe. We’ll be talking about two ideas for keeping the park, and, I’m reasonably sure, how to form a limited liability corporation. Want to come? The coffee’s pretty good.”
Peggy leaned back in her chair and shook her head.
“I try to stay away from places where I’m going to be seen as Public Enemy Number One.”
I frowned. “Why would anybody think that?”
She laughed. “You’re cute when you’re stupid. Think a minute, Kate. Arbitrary and Cruel has sold the midway and is going to be selling the land out from under the amusement park, thereby causing a lot of annoyance, not to mention real pain and hardship, too. Who in this room is employed by Arbitrary and Cruel?”
I looked at her, opened my mouth, found I didn’t have anything much to say, and closed it again.
“Didn’t think of that,” I admitted, because of course Peggy still had a job; she was one of the company’s fixers. They’d just send her on to the next thing that needed fixing.
“I can see that you hadn’t. It’s a good thing you’ve got me around to think of stuff for you.”
“That’s true,” I said, around a sudden lump in my throat. I hadn’t thought things through, not at all. I mean, I knew that Peggy was employed as a fixer by Fun Country Corporate, and I knew the Season was exactly twelve weeks long.
I just hadn’t connected the dots.
In eight weeks, Peggy would be gone—off to her next assignment.
And I’d never see her again.
“Kate? You okay?”
I took a hard breath and gave her my best smile.
“I’m fine. Just took a look ahead, which anybody’ll tell you is a stupid idea.”
She eyed me. “Anything in particular you’re going to do about it?”
“Practice living in the moment. Which reminds me of my other reason for coming around. I am blessed with a day off, and I’m going to spend part of it in the grocery store. Anything you need?”
“Anything I don’t need?” She shook her head. “Thanks, Kate, but I can’t ask you to do my shopping for me.”
“You didn’t,” I pointed out. “I offered.”
