Gods and Warriors

by Michelle Paver

  She glanced at the boy and smiled, but he didn’t smile back. This mattered too much to him to smile. It mattered so much that it hurt.

  The tail turned out to be the easy part: digging under Spirit’s belly was much harder. He was far too heavy to lift, so the boy tried rolling him to one side to let Pirra dig underneath, but it didn’t work, and he worried about squashing the dolphin and making it even more difficult for him to breathe.

  “Careful with that stick,” he gasped. “You’ll give him splinters.”

  “What’s a splinter?” panted Pirra.

  “Ow,” she said a bit later, when she got one in her thumb.

  By now they were both on their knees, clawing at the sand with their bare hands. But although they’d dug about a third of the way under the dolphin’s belly, they couldn’t reach any farther up. Water was seeping beneath him, but not nearly enough to float him free.

  Sitting back on his heels, the boy wiped the sweat from his forehead. “It’s not working, he’s too heavy.”

  Pirra nodded. They stared at each other across the dolphin’s back.

  Pirra glanced at the sailcloth shading the dolphin from the Sun. “If—if we could pull that sail far enough underneath him,” she said, “we might be able to drag him a bit farther into the trench.”

  Slowly the boy nodded. “Although he’ll be in the Sun again and it’s nearly noon. We’ll need another shelter.” He snapped his fingers. “Juniper.” He yanked the knife from its sheath, then hesitated. Pirra guessed that he didn’t want to leave Spirit and cut the juniper himself, but if he stayed, he’d have to trust the knife to her.

  “Hylas,” she said urgently, “Spirit needs you to stay close. Give me the knife.”

  He threw her a narrow look, then tossed the knife to her. She caught it one-handed—she was quite pleased about that—but he didn’t notice. He was already splashing water over Spirit and scooping out the trench to stop it filling with sand, while talking constantly in a low, encouraging voice.

  The juniper was tough and Pirra got liberally scratched, but she managed to hack off some branches and toss them over to him. He didn’t seem to feel the prickles as he wove them deftly into a roof that kept off the worst of the Sun. Then she helped him manhandle the sail about halfway under Spirit’s belly, tilting him first one way, then the other, as they eased the sail higher, bit by bit. When they’d pulled it as far as they could, they stood on either side, planted their heels in the sand, and each grabbed a corner of the sail.

  As long as it doesn’t tear, thought Pirra.

  “Pull,” said Hylas.

  The close-woven wool went taut—and held. Spirit tried to help by feebly flexing his backbone.

  A tiny judder.

  “Did you feel that?” gasped Pirra.

  Hylas was straining too hard to reply.

  Again and again they hauled at the sail. Again and again Spirit flexed his spine.

  With each pull, Pirra felt the burden lessen just a little as the dolphin’s back end juddered into the surf and the Sea began to help.

  “It’s working,” grunted Hylas.

  Suddenly Spirit gave a tremendous thrash, his tail catching Pirra on the flank and sending her flying.

  She sat up, clutching her side. Hylas was half pulling, half pushing the struggling dolphin into the shallows. “He’s in!” he shouted. In amazement, she watched Spirit roll off the sailcloth and disappear beneath the waves.

  There was an abrupt, unnerving silence, broken only by the suck and sigh of the surf. Foam netted the sand, smoothing away the traces of the desperate struggle that had just taken place.

  With his eyes on the Sea, Hylas backed toward Pirra. “You all right?” he said without turning around.

  “Mm,” she mumbled. Wincing, she struggled to her feet. “Do you think Spirit’s all right?”

  He didn’t reply.

  Together they scanned the waves. Sun-dazzle and turquoise water. No dolphin.

  What if we were too late? thought Pirra with a clutch of terror. What if he was in the Sun too long, and the next thing we see is a dead dolphin, floating belly up?

  Hylas was scowling and shaking his head. Clearly he was thinking the same thing.

  He put two fingers to his mouth and whistled.

  Nothing happened.

  “Spirit!” he cried. Wading thigh-deep, he patted the water with his palm. Again he shouted.

  Pirra held her breath.

  The breeze swirled sadly around the inlet. A gull flew past, its wingtips skimming the waves.

  Suddenly the Sea exploded—and there was Spirit, leaping into the air with an ear-splitting squeal.

  Pirra sank to her knees. Hylas didn’t move. He had his back to her, but she saw him put his face in his hands.

  Meanwhile, Spirit was swimming up and down at the mouth of the inlet, rolling onto his side and sticking one flipper in the air, then sliding under again and waggling his tail flukes, reveling at being back where he belonged.

  Hylas recovered fast. With a whoop, he dived in and swam underwater, then burst out in a shower of spray. “Come in and cool off!” he shouted to Pirra.

  Rubbing her arms, she stared at the Sea—this Sea, which she’d worshipped all her life, but had never been in, apart from that one near-disaster when she’d tried to make friends with Spirit, and ended up swallowing a bellyful of seawater.

  “I can’t,” she called back. “I can’t swim.”

  “Doesn’t matter! I won’t let you drown.” He broke into a grin. “I need you to help build that raft, remember?”

  Still she hesitated, while boy and dolphin stared back at her: two creatures at home where she was not.

  “What’s your name, anyway?” shouted Hylas.

  “Um—Pirra.”

  “Well then, Pirra, come on! Come and meet Spirit properly, now that he’s better!”

  Pirra hesitated. She took a few steps, and the water licked deliciously around her calves. She wobbled in up to her knees. Then the ground dropped away and with a wonderful shock of cold she was in, and the Sea was lifting her off her feet, washing away the heat and scratches and tiredness; it was combing out her hair with long cool fingers and singing in her ears as she went under.

  Hylas grabbed her wrist and pulled her to the surface. “It’s shallower over here,” he said. “You can stand.”

  Panting with elation and spitting out seawater, she stood swaying to the rhythm of the Sea. She felt the slippery caress of seaweed around her ankles. Her gold bracelets shone, washed clean of dust.

  Spirit glided past her underwater, his sleek green body rippling with sunlight. She put out her hand, and his flank was as cool and smooth as wet silk. Her heart swelled with pride that she’d helped save his life.

  “When he comes around again,” said Hylas behind her, “take hold of his fin with both hands, and he’ll give you a ride.”

  She threw him a doubtful look.

  “I mean it. Here he comes.”

  Spirit swam just beneath the surface, with only his fin jutting out.

  Pirra tensed.

  “Go on, don’t be scared.”

  “I’m not scared,” she muttered. But she was—although not of Spirit. She was scared of the Sea.

  Again Spirit swam past, and this time she didn’t give herself time to think, she put first one hand and then the other on the leading edge of his fin. She felt a powerful surge as he carried her forward, pulling her with him toward the open Sea.

  “Hold on and just float!” Hylas called after her. “Lie flat, you don’t need to kick—and keep your arms straight, or it gets bumpy!”

  Pirra clung to the dolphin’s sturdy fin and felt coolness flowing over her. Just in front, she saw smooth water sliding over Spirit’s sleek head as it rose and fell, his blowhole blinking open and shut with gentle pffts. She felt his powerful tail brushing her toes as it moved steadily up and down. Faster and faster they went and she laughed aloud, for she was flying, flying through the Sea.

&nbs
p; After sweeping in a great glittering ring that left her breathless and exhilarated, Spirit bore her back to the inlet, where Hylas stood watching. The dolphin spread his flippers to slow down, and Pirra let go of his fin. Her feet sank into seaweed, and the Sea held her up as she found her footing.

  Hylas stood waist-deep, watching Spirit arch beneath the waves and vanish into the blue. “We did it,” he said quietly.

  Still breathless, Pirra glanced down through the glassy water. Her feet were pale green and half buried by swaying purple fronds. Among them, something glinted.

  “We should make an offering,” said Hylas, “to thank the Sea for letting him live.”

  “We already have,” said Pirra. “Look down there.”

  One of the little golden axes had come off her tunic and drifted down to rest.

  “Ah, that’s good,” said Hylas with a nod. “Yes. That’s good.”

  21

  Hylas hadn’t thought about food all day, but suddenly he was ravenous.

  He and Pirra went foraging, and the island made it easy. Hylas caught a crab in a rock pool, then downed a seagull with his slingshot, while Pirra found a weird plant that she called samphire on the rocks; he thought it looked like the fingers of a fat green baby.

  Even Spirit helped, tossing a slimy gray lump onto the pebbles, where it lay feebly heaving: an octopus. Hylas was going to chuck it back, but Pirra got him to kill it. She wanted him to clean it too, but he told her to do it herself, so she scraped it out with a stick, grimacing as if she’d never seen guts before. Then they roasted it over the fire.

  He let her have some of his catch, and she gave him some of hers. She said octopuses are sacred, as they’ve got blue blood, which nearly put him off, but it turned out to be delicious, very chewy and sweet. The samphire wasn’t bad either. She’d stewed it in that jar she’d smashed, and it was as crunchy as milk thistle, and tasted of the Sea.

  By the time they’d finished, the Sun was getting low, and shadows were creeping out from the cliffs. Hylas sat picking his teeth with a thorn, and Pirra scowled as she teased knots out of her hair with her fingers. A few more of the little gold axes had fallen off her tunic, but she still had her necklaces and bracelets. The mark on her cheek was an angry red. Hylas thought it was odd that she could wince at a tangle in her hair, and yet never complained about the burn.

  He considered fetching some mallow root for a poultice, then decided against it. She’d helped save Spirit, but that didn’t make her a friend. He hadn’t forgotten that her people were in league with the Crows.

  Besides, how could they be friends, when he had to leave her behind? He felt increasingly bad about that, but there didn’t seem to be any other way. He couldn’t take her back to Lykonia. He had to find Issi. He told himself that she’d be all right. He would leave her plenty of food; and some boat would be sure to come by and pick her up. If it happened to be the Crows, there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

  As dusk came on she grew edgy, and he guessed she was worrying about hedgehogs. At least he could do something about that. He began to tell her what hedgehogs are really like, but she looked so startled that he burst out laughing. Soon he was rolling around on the pebbles, and she was grinning and putting her hand to her cheek to protect her scab.

  “I can’t believe you made that up,” she said ruefully.

  He wiped his eyes. “You should’ve seen your face.”

  She fiddled with her bracelets. “You’re not really a warrior, are you?”

  “And you can’t do spells.”

  They exchanged tentative grins.

  “But I am the daughter of the High Priestess. I wasn’t lying about that.”

  “So why’d you run away?”

  Her face clouded. “I had to.”

  “No you didn’t. You’re rich. You’ve got everything.”

  “Oh yes, I’m rich,” she said with surprising bitterness. “See this tunic? This color’s Keftian purple; it’s made from sea snails, thousands of them. Costs more than gold.”

  He snorted. “You made that up.”

  She gave him a curious look. “You don’t know much, do you?”

  “I know more than you.”

  “Not about Keftiu, you don’t. I bet you don’t even know where it is.”

  He didn’t reply.

  “It’s a long way to the south, and it’s as big as Akea, but we don’t have warriors, just farmers and craftsmen and sailors. Everyone has to bring a twelfth of what they’ve got—crops, animals, wares—to the House of the Goddess. That’s where I live. It’s ten times bigger than your Chieftain’s stronghold—”

  “It can’t be. Nothing’s that big.”

  “Yes it is.”

  He threw her an uncertain glance. “Why does everybody have to give it things?”

  She hesitated. “Once there was an island north of Keftiu. It was richer and more beautiful than any that’s ever been, but its people angered the Earthshaker and He stamped so hard it blew up. Then a great wave came rushing over the Sea. It struck Keftiu. The Sun went dark and an earthshake brought down the House of the Goddess.” She broke off, watching the flames. “That was long before I was born, and it’s all been rebuilt, but we’ve never forgotten. The Sea gives life, but it also brings death.”

  Hylas picked a shred of meat from between his teeth. “We get earthshakes in the mountains sometimes, but nothing like that. Funny. You call Her the Goddess; we call Her the Lady of the Wild Things; but we both call Him the Earthshaker.”

  Her lip curled. “Even Akeans get some things right.”

  “I’m Lykonian.”

  She shrugged. “Same thing; it’s part of Akea.”

  He put more driftwood on the fire. “So this House of the Goddess. What’s it like?”

  “It’s—it’s full of people. Like a swarm of bees. I call it the stone hive. There’s always someone watching.” As she went on talking, Hylas pictured a great village of shining white stone. He saw huge double axes of burnished bronze, and sacrificial vessels of rock crystal and hammered gold; sweet black wine in jars ten cubits tall, and bare-chested men somersaulting over the backs of charging bulls. All to placate the gods, and prevent catastrophe.

  “So that’s why I’m rich,” said Pirra. “I’ve spent my whole life in a stone prison.”

  “Sounds awful,” he said sarcastically. “Warm clothes. Soft sheepskins to sleep on. Meat every day. How do you bear it?”

  She frowned. “I didn’t expect you to understand.”

  “Why’d you burn your cheek?”

  She glanced at him. “Do you know what your knife is made of?”

  “What?” He was startled. “Course I do. It’s bronze.”

  “But what’s bronze? It’s copper and tin. You dig them up from deep in the earth, and mate them in fire.”

  “What’s that got to do with burning your cheek?”

  “Everything,” she said with sudden ferocity. “Akeans need bronze to make weapons. They have plenty of copper, but no tin. Keftiu also needs bronze, and although we haven’t got copper or tin, we can get tin, from the deserts far in the east. So. My mother struck a bargain with an Akean Chieftain. We’ll trade him tin for copper. That way, both Keftiu and Akea will have bronze.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “I haven’t finished.” In the firelight her expression was fierce as a hawk’s. “To seal the bargain, my mother agreed to give me in marriage. Well, I won’t! So I thought if I spoiled my face, I’d be ugly and they wouldn’t want me. I was wrong. There. That’s why I ran away.”

  Hylas reached for a stick and stirred the fire. “You didn’t take any food with you. That was stupid.”

  “Food?” she cried with scorn. “Is that all you think about?”

  He looked at her levelly. “You’ve never been hungry.”

  “Yes I have, right here on this island—”

  “No you haven’t. That fisherman left you a couple of mullet. That’s not hungry. Real hunger hurt
s.”

  “Well, if you were a goatherd you can’t have been hungry either, you’d have had milk and meat any time you like.”

  He barked a laugh. “They weren’t my goats! And there’s only so much milk you can steal before someone notices and gives you a beating.”

  She blinked. “They beat you?”

  It was his turn to shrug. “So what? That’s just how it is.”

  “But—why didn’t you run away?”

  He was nettled. “Course we ran away! But every time we did they sent the dogs after us. And the last time they caught us, they—they didn’t beat me. They beat Issi.”

  “Who’s Issi?”

  He threw away the stick. “Dark soon,” he said shortly. “We’ve got to get these shelters repaired, or we’ll have nowhere to sleep.”

  After they’d finished the shelters, Hylas took the crab shell down to the shallows for Spirit.

  He was angry with himself. He’d let Pirra distract him with all that talk of the House of the Goddess. She’d never once mentioned the Crows.

  In fact, he’d been so taken up with rescuing Spirit that he’d almost forgotten why he was here. Well, not anymore. He was sick of running away; sick of merely surviving. The Crows were after Outsiders for a reason. He intended to find out why.

  Spirit didn’t want the crab shell; he tossed it up and down once or twice, then ignored it. He’d recovered from his ordeal, but he seemed listless and subdued. When Hylas waded in, the dolphin put his head on one side and gazed at him sadly.

  For the first time, Hylas wondered how Spirit had come to be stranded. “Why’d you do it?” he asked softly. “Why’d you try to get on the land?”

  The dolphin sank beneath the surface, leaving starlight rocking on the water.

  Why is he on his own? wondered Hylas. Where’s his family? Is he trying to find them? Is that why he got stranded?

  Was it possible that Spirit was seeking his little sister, just as he was seeking Issi?