by Caleb Fox
He looked down and saw the no-air-at-the-bottom place drifting along beneath him. He let himself imagine, just for a moment, how much of the no-air place there must be. Some people thought the ocean went all the way around the Earth, to the far side of the rolling country that was on the other side of the mountains where the Galayi people made their home. Some people said that, if you could walk on water, it would be a hundred days’ walk all the way around to that rolling country. Other people said a thousand days. And probably the everywhere-water was as big up and down as it was across. The no-air part of Earth might be as big as Turtle Island herself was. Or bigger. At the very beginning, when all the plants and animals, including human beings, were ready to come down and live on Earth, the entire planet was water. Then Water Beetle started diving down and bringing up dirt, making places to walk and build houses and live. No one knew how much of the everywhere-water Water Beetle had covered with dirt.
Aku decided he couldn’t swim anymore. He was far too tired in his muscles and he felt woozy in his head, too. He would sail like a cloud. Why not? He didn’t have any choice, and it felt good. He would wag his legs gently and sail and sail and sail until the water was as big as the sky and then … He guessed he would slide down and lie on the bottom.
“We’ve got to do something!” Shonan said.
“There’s nothing to do,” said Oghi, looking out to sea. He couldn’t see Aku. “He’s in the riptide. He can’t swim straight against it, but he kept trying, and going the wrong way.”
Both men were mixing in words of the Galayi and Amaso languages, hoping the other would figure it out.
“Where will he end up?”
Oghi shrugged. “Nobody who swam against one ever came back. We learned to swim across them.”
“I’m going to do something.”
Oghi looked at Shonan with questions in his young-old eyes.
“He’s my son,” Shonan said.
Tagu let out three soft barks.
Shonan could see that Oghi was pondering something, but he had no idea what.
“We could ride the tide out, just like he did.”
Oghi stared into space.
“We could take something …” Shonan looked around and saw various pieces of flotsam, but they were all spindly. He wasn’t sure they’d hold him and Aku. Then he spotted a big piece of driftwood no more than twenty steps into the water. It was taller than a human being and thicker than a man’s thigh.
“How far out does the riptide go?”
Oghi shrugged.
“I’m taking that log and going after my boy.”
The sea turtle man let a beat go by, gave a truly odd smile, and said, “Me, too.” He broke into a grin. “Tie Tagu to a tree, will you?” No question they couldn’t make the dog stay, not when his master was out there.
Shonan waded into the water, climbed onto the log, and straddled it. He looked back and in amazement beheld …
The sea turtle man’s fingers and toes turned to claws. His arms and legs were rough, bumpy, like a turtle’s.
Oghi wore a scrunchy look of deepest concentration on his face. He fell onto all fours. His back metamorphosed into a carapace. His neck developed a wattle. His nose and mouth joined into a beak. His body doubled in size.
The turtle four-footed his way to the edge of the water. Only his young-old eyes stayed the same. Shonan would have sworn that he grinned, except that a turtle couldn’t do that.
“A small person,” said the sea turtle man, “but a giant turtle.”
Oghi pointed. “Right over there’s where the riptide starts.” He launched into the water, swam with extraordinary grace to the log, and started pushing it toward the rip.
Shonan joined in. He didn’t intend to say anything, certainly not ask for anything, not for a long time. The two of them got behind one end of the log and chugged it into the rip, and away they went.
The sea was cool, and he was becoming cool as the sea. Aku waited. He daydreamed. He scudded pictures of Iona through his mind, and not only pictures but smells, tastes, the touch of her warm flesh, the music of her moans. Slowly, slowly, he scissored his legs, barely moving. All they had left was the strength of leaf stems.
Ocean slurped up his nose, and his legs wiggled faster. He sneezed it out. Nasty stuff.
He glanced up at the sun. Fine old Grandmother Sun, he liked her. He noodled his legs around. Yes, fine old Grandmother Sun. He looked at her through eyelids nearly shut, making the bright star into a bright haze. He wondered if she’d look like that from the bottom of the sloshing sea.
He looked down. He could still see the bottom, though it seemed further away. He supposed that if he lay on the bottom and looked up at Grandmother Sun, he would see a sheet of light, a glaze on the surface of the water, and Grandmother Sun’s weightless beauty, lighter even than a breath of breeze on a hot summer’s night.
It wouldn’t be hot on the bottom, would be cold. Here he was cool, too cool. Bodies cool when people die. Down there cold, all the way cold. Wouldn’t be a breeze, or any air at all at all at all. Maybe he would suck air in and slide gracefully to the bottom, the way a yellow leaf slides off the branch of an oak tree and floats to the frosty grass. And there on the bottom he would shudder with cold, shudder and shudder. For a little while he would hold onto that marvelous air and look up at Grandmother Sun’s glaze of light and hold on some more and hold on, until the air evaporated, all of it, evaporated, and then he would close his eyes.
Now he let his eyes shut and turned his head up to the sun and bathed his face in her gift of light. He nudged his mind toward Iona again. He bid her bright eyes come to his attention, then the feel of her lips, the softness of her breasts.
Grandmother Sun, though, felt more real. He luxuriated in her. Sun warm, sea cold.
A wave whacked its way up his nose. He yelled and spat and shook his head. Ugly stuff, that ocean water, ugly stuff up the nose where air belonged.
Wide awake now, he noticed that he wasn’t sailing any longer. He was bobbing up and down in one place, wagging his legs slowly, and he wasn’t cloud-flying out into the everywhere-water anymore.
So this was the spot. He inspected the bottom, as well as he could see it. It looked no more distinguished than any other, and no less, for a quiet death.
His mind drifted down there.
Just then four pelicans caught his attention. They flew solemnly, gray-brown birds with jaw pouches for carrying food. Iona had pointed them out to Aku. He thought they were funny. Even now they made him smile.
And they gave him thoughts.
I promised my sister I would. My lost sister.
My mother wanted me to.
My father loves me. He wants me to live.
I don’t know …
My mother would want me to. My mother would want me to. Look right over there.
Over there was a piece of flotsam, not big enough at all to hold a human being, but …
He took a couple of strokes and grabbed it. It made floating a little easier.
He held his hands in front of his face and imagined the fingernails as claws. They began to change.
Stunned, he held his feet up one at a time and pictured them as talons. Awkwardly, with the flesh still clinging, they turned into an owl’s feet.
Focusing fiercely, he made his arms into wings. He feathered his body. He altered his head, nose, and mouth.
Now he stepped onto the flotsam, and it bore his weight. He turned his head backward on its axis and looked at the land. The shore was an impossible distance to swim but an easy flight.
He jumped into the air and flapped. He teetered, swooped down, and got dunked. He climbed back onto the flotsam and launched again. The second time he achieved … well, it was his version of flight.
He let out a triumphant screech.
“Aku!”
“Aku!”
“Hey, Aku!”
“Can you hear us?”
Nothing. Out this far Shonan and Oghi coul
dn’t hear even the shush of the surf. The air was still, as though the earth had stopped breathing. The waves blocked their view. They couldn’t have seen Aku thirty strokes away. Far off to the left four pelicans cruised low over the water, on the hunt. Nothing else on earth or in the sky moved, except for the waves, in deadly procession.
Suddenly, Shonan saw something odd. A bird fast-flapped low over the water. It had no business being there—it was an owl, and owls hunted only on land and only at night or twilight.
“A winged panther!” exclaimed Oghi.
“A what?”
Oghi repeated the words, pointing at the owl.
“We call that a great dusky owl,” said Shonan.
Oghi shrugged and waggled his head oddly, like he was dancing.
The owl changed course and flew straight toward them. More amazingly, it hovered over the log they were pushing and circled, looking. It said in Aku’s voice, “Hi, Shonan. Are you Oghi?” the bird said to the turtle.
“Yes!”
The owl landed. “Sure am glad to see the two of you.”
Now Shonan had to watch Aku do it. Orange-faced, horn-tufted, beaked head into his son’s face. Wings into arms. Feathers to skin, talons to feet. Aku grinned at his father.
Shonan said flatly, “I hate that.”
Aku started to snap something back. Instead he slid into the water, so he could help push their log boat back to shore.
“You could have flown all the way back,” said Oghi.
Aku bit a lip. “Sounds weird, but flying so far makes me nervous. I’d rather be with you.”
They swam the log back toward the shore. It took forever.
Before long Shonan noticed that Aku seemed lackadaisical in his kicking, and unsure in his grip on the log. He put his arm around his son. Aku gave him a dazed smile.
“He’s chilled,” said Oghi. “When we get to shore, we’ll warm him up.”
Before long the three of them and the dog sat next to a driftwood fire. Aku managed a few words, and an occasional nibble on the parched corn they’d brought. Mostly, his eyes were busy soaking up the sea turtle man, who was no longer a man and was munching some grass in the shallow water.
Aku felt carefully, one by one, each of the owl feathers tied into his hair. He hadn’t lost any. Wondering how he got back into human form with all his clothes and gear, he drifted into slumber.
Shonan half-heard quite a few words but stayed in his hide blankets. He wanted no part of this conversation. Aku and Oghi—who were both human beings again—were locked in some deep discussion. Oghi was advising Aku on how to be a shape-shifter and a seer and a … magician. Shonan swallowed spittle, and it felt like burying the word. Meli, he thought, Meli … But he couldn’t curse the dead wife he still loved.
Meli had spoken to Aku about following his nature. Shonan put no stock in that idea. He saw life as choices. A human being was clay, like a pot. Your parents gave you the raw material. You yourself made the shape of the pot you wanted. Will mattered. Making decisions mattered. Determination. The clay was just clay, and it would take any form.
Now Shonan felt a sharp twist of pain in his loins, as though they were responsible for this unnatural creature who sat by the fire talking foolishness. He stifled a cry. What had he done wrong?
“Practice once now,” the sea turtle man said. “It gets easier every time.”
Aku made a murmur of protest, and then said, “All right.”
Shonan sat up, rubbed his eyes, and watched. Feet to talons, trunk to feathers, arms to wings, face to that crazy orange face disc of the great dusky owl. Oghi reached out and tugged at a human ear. “Next time get rid of these. The winged panther has his own.”
Aku felt his ears in embarrassment. He looked down to make sure he’d replaced his peeing equipment, his do-wa, with an owl’s.
Aku looked across at Shonan. “I’m sorry, Father.” Gradually, he changed himself back into the shape his family was used to.
Shonan stood up, getting his confidence back. “I suppose it can’t be helped.”
“Grandmother Tsola told me it’s the way I am.”
Shonan sighed. “Why don’t we all eat?”
As Aku reached for meat, he felt a surge of bloodlust, the spirit of the killer. He remembered that the winged panther was a deadly hunter. It was one of the few creatures that hunted animals bigger than itself. Worse, it hunted, killed, and ate its own kind, other owls.
“You’re uncomfortable with it, but it is part of what you are,” said Oghi. Shonan gave the sea turtle man a dirty look. Oghi went on, “Kind of fun when you get used to it, and handy.”
For a moment they ate in silence. Then Shonan said, “Let’s get going.”
Aku jumped up. “Yes.”
Shonan asked Oghi, “We’ve lost our chance to get ahead of the bastards on the trail, right?”
“Yes. You can still surprise them, but now only from behind.”
“Whatever,” said Shonan. He got the hide with the map from Tagu’s load and unfurled it.
“We’re here,” said Oghi, pointing, “at the mouth of Any Chance River. The next river is the one you want, Big River. You go along this side of the river to right here, where it intersects the trail. It’s no more than half a day’s walk.”
He glanced at Aku.
“I’ll be fine,” Oghi said, answering the question in both of their minds.
“You’re not going on with us, are you?” said Shonan.
“Fighting is not my medicine, and there’s no need. The way is wide and easy now. I prefer to swim home.”
Aku said, “Grandfather, do you foresee success for us?”
Oghi laughed out loud.
Shonan was surprised by Aku’s question and shocked by Oghi’s laughter. “Grandfather” was a term of honor not customarily given to a person outside the tribe. It was an acknowledgement of kinship and respect. Regardless, it was more of the wicky-wacky stuff he despised.
Oghi got serious. “Sometimes I can answer questions about the future, but I would have to gather materials and conduct the ceremony. You have no time for that.”
“We don’t,” Shonan snapped out.
The sea turtle man spoke directly to Aku. “You don’t need my help. Ask the owls. Ask the ones that cross your path in the ordinary world. Ask the ones you dream of. Ask the owl inside yourself. All will help you.”
Aku gave a wry smile. Shonan frowned at the owl feathers tied into his son’s hair.
Oghi stood up and grinned. Before their eyes he performed the metamorphosis again. Claws, carapace, beak—a sea creature on all fours.
He waggled his head at them, did a little dance with his front feet, turned, and crawled into the ocean.
“Let’s go,” said Shonan.
Aku stood up shakily. He made sure of Tagu’s lashings, stalling. He looked up at Shonan. “Father, do you want me to fly ahead and find them?”
“No,” said Shonan. It came out as a growl.
That was fine with Aku. When he touched the feathers in his hair, they said, Trouble ahead.
9
Walking, Aku got oriented again. His father in front of him, their dog half a step behind him and just to his right—it all felt good. The Earth, at the fullest bloom of summer—all of this world felt new to him. Yesterday he had surrendered all that was above water, he had said good-bye. Twice in two days he had transformed himself into an owl, once saving his own life. Now every sight, the feel of the path under his moccasins, the sun on his skin, all of it felt like a hello. And if the father was distressed with the son right now, Shonan had helped save his life yesterday. That made Aku feel good.
Aku liked people. All the different ways they were, the odd ways they did things, the peculiar ideas they held to (sometimes held fast to), the way they loved each other and disliked each other and had fun together and quarreled and baited each other and somehow made a bond—every bit of that pleased Aku. He couldn’t explain why.
Some things grieved him. Hav
ing his mother die. Missing her every day. Shonan being gone hunting or fighting wars. Feeling like he had no real home.
He liked going to see his great-grandmother Tsola at the Emerald Cavern. That felt like home, and Tsola was the one person who would understand the strange things that went on in his head. But no one could live with her in the Cavern, no one could interfere with the sacred duties that occupied her life. She would help him develop his powers to the highest, as she did for every seer, but that was all.
Well, I am what I am. And I am alone.
If enemies hadn’t stolen his sister, and he didn’t have to walk until each muscle nattered to every other muscle about hurting, life would have been halfway decent.
I am what I am.
Aku remembered well the day he’d met the tribe’s Seer and Wounded Healer. He’d been ten, and his mother walked him up to the Emerald Cavern, Tsola’s home. Though his great-grandmother was the most respected person in the tribe, with several titles and powers, she was also extraordinarily old. The tribe’s Wounded Healers lived far past a hundred winters, and she was the oldest of them.
Beside a low fire, Tsola poured them tea. His mother had told him that Tsola had lived in the Emerald Cavern so long she couldn’t see outdoors anymore—she lived entirely in these depths. “But she’ll see us coming with her special power.”
After they sipped, his mother said, “He shows signs of the gift.”
“Yes, I see that. You sometimes look beyond the appearance of the things of this world to what they truly are.”
The ten-year-old nodded. He had always seen things invisible to other people, but he’d kept his mouth shut about it.
“You also have your mother’s talent. You can change into the shape of another animal.”
“That scares me,” Aku said. His hands shook.
“It’s powerful,” said the old woman, “and it’s your nature. Every creature must follow its nature, or it destroys him.”
