by M P Ericson
CHIMES FROM A DEEPER SEA
M P ERICSON
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2015 M P Ericson
Cover image copyright Algol - Fotolia.com
This ebook edition published 2015 by Byrnie Publishing
83 Ducie Street, Manchester M1 2JQ
United Kingdom
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. No similarity to any living person or recent event is intended or should be inferred.
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I never cared much for the other boys. Handsome, yes, some of them: the flash of teeth like foam on a wave, sunbright; trim muscles straining under smooth skin. But not attractive - not in that way, not to me.
Though I watched them, sometimes: loitered in the shade of palm fronds, washed my toes in warm water right at the edge of the lagoon. My favourite spot, there: a little aside from the village, close enough to hear my mother's call, but far enough to be private with my own thoughts.
Unless Hinu was with me, little Hinu, my baby sister. She wasn't often, she preferred the company of my middle sisters, who'd played with her since she was small. I left them to it, I'd had my fill of mothering them, it was sweet to watch them now croon and cuddle and tickle as I had done, as my mother did with me, as girls in every generation do throughout the eternal voyage of the world across the endless sea.
Often now I would sneak away, dawdle by the water's edge and watch light ripple across the sand under the surface, and dream idly of my my own future. Of marriage, and children, and a house of my own. And a man.
I'd already chosen one.
But it wasn't one of those I'd grown up with, who I watched now push the boats out into the lagoon and glide out towards the sea. I knew them, they were friends, like brothers almost - even the ones not born from my father's wives. I liked to live among them, had no wish to lose their companionship, but I could not imagine them as husbands. Or I could, but shuddered at the thought, as at some deep wrongness seeping up from the cracks within the world.
No, this man was something else entirely. A chief's son from another island. I watched him now as he wandered along the beach, sleek and assured, youthful next to my father. But he wasn't a boy, I knew that by the strength of his body as he wrestled, by the depth of his voice as he spoke in calm terms to my father or joked among his own men. Most of all, I knew it by the way he looked at me: with respect. No trace had I seen in him of the sniggers and lewd hints and presumptuous stares that other youths clutched at to cover their insecurity. He carried instead a dignity that made them look clumsy, a reserve that made them look foolish. I could not regard them with anything but pity or contempt, when he was near.
It was the third time he'd visited us. I knew what he came for, because my mother had told me. He wanted a wife.
A chief's son and a chief's daughter. These matters were not settled in a hurry. First messengers had come, and then gift-bearers, and then hostages in exchange for our own, and finally the young man himself. Two of my brothers had travelled back with him, and remained now at his island home. They would stay there forever, if one of us girls married him and went to live there as his wife.
One of us. Not necessarily me.
I watched my sisters with surreptitious envy. Five of them were of age to marry, and all with gifts that outshone mine. Prettier, or kinder, or better skilled at their tasks. He'd watched us cook and clean and carry water, weave and plait and tease the kids. We'd watched him dance and wrestle and handle his boat, then accepted gifts of flowers and food from his hands. Which meant he knew enough to make a choice now, and we enough to ask our mothers to take us back within the house and not allow him to see us again.
None of us had asked.
He was too courteous to give any hints. Too mature to betray any uncertainty. I had the sense that his mind was made up, and for the very best of reasons. But he would give that sense, I was sure, no matter what his decision might be - and whether or not I would find it to my liking.
For myself, I knew. Had known from the moment he first jumped ashore. I could see that movement still, swift and elegant, certain as a lightning strike. It slammed into my body, hard as if he'd been close enough to touch, and from that instant I'd known he was the man I wished to marry.
But the decision was not mine. I'd told my mother, who'd promised to tell my father. Beyond that, there was nothing I could do.
True, I'd seen some girls hint and tease and throw suggestive looks - and most of them had caught the man they wanted. But it wasn't my way, and even if it had been this was not the right occasion. A marriage between islands was too important to put at risk for the sake of vanity or desire. We all knew that, different as we were. Six girls, and not always the best of friends, as rivals for one man - but none of us had sought to draw his notice or secure his good will. It was too serious a venture, this. Already lives depended on it, hostages from our island and from his. If anything went wrong, if either party took offence, blood might pour. Old people still remembered, and occasionally spoke about, times of war between the islands. We dared not risk that.
"Do you want to be alone?" Tuni, one of my rivals - and in truth, the one whose grace and beauty I feared the most - slipped from the shade under the palm trees and slid onto the sandy bank beside me. She dipped her feet into the water and swished them as I had done, while I envied her soft skin and lustrous eyes.
"Not any more," I said, because she was kind and good and it wasn't her fault that she was beautiful too. "I'll miss you when you're gone."
She shrugged, shoulders firm and lovely under the shell beads draped across them. We all wore our wealth, a display to impress the visitor with a sense of our father's power. "It might not be me."
No. It might not. He had another four to choose from. As well as myself.
"And I don't want to," Tuni added. "Not really. I'd rather stay here."
"You don't have to." I forced myself to quell the eagerness that bubbled through my voice. "If it would upset you so much. You can ask your mother to - "
"Oh, I imagine I'll get used to it. And it's for Father to decide."
I subsided. "Of course."
Hinu peeked out from among the trees. I waved to her.
"Come and play with me," she whined. "I'm all alone."
Well, it was better than worrying about things I couldn't change. "Come on, then." I scrambled to my feet, padded across the warm sand to reach her. Thrilled to the trusting touch of her little hand in mine, held my other hand out towards Tuni. Because we were sisters still, and always would be, no matter what decisions men made over our futures.
Tuni laughed, and scrambled to join us, and we skipped away. Played hide and seek at the edge of the trees, stayed close to the shore to let the breeze float around us and cool our bodies. Smelled the crisp scent of the ocean as it dashed and swirled against the dense thick odour of the jungle that smothered the interior of the island, felt the slither of sand and tendrils under the soles of our feet.
Eventually we settled some distance from the beach, on a rock that fell away steeply into the open sea. No lagoon here, no shelter of shallow water to wade through in safety, no pale sand shining under the surface. Just dark cold depths under the vast unbroken surfa
ce of the ocean.
I shivered a little, and did not know why.
"It's over there." Tuni pointed out across the endless expanse. "His island. Mother told me."
"Is it?" I squinted. Perhaps I could make out the hint of a distant shape, like a palm frond torn loose by a recent storm and now floating on the water. "I should like to go there. See if it's anything like home."
"Maybe you will."
I laughed at that, because it was sweet of her to say so, and because I still had hope. We strolled back to the village, and settled to our tasks, while Hinu found a grandmother's lap to snuggle on.
Later, when all the boats had come back and lay drawn up on the sand, while sunset burned across the water and the sky, my father came and told us the young man had chosen me.
###
"You'll like it." My husband - his name was Perin, I had discovered - smiled at me from the back of the boat. "It's not so different from what you're used to."
"I know I will." At least, I was determined to. There would be no return journey, not for me. Already the island lay far behind us, a prone shape sinking slow into the ocean. I raised one hand in brief farewell, but in truth I'd already said all my goodbyes. To my mother - a long, intense hug that soothed me still - and to Hinu, and Tuni, and all the rest of my people.
Except for the few who travelled with me, girls wreathed in flowers and smiles, brides for other men among my husband's strength. I would not be entirely alone, on this strange faraway island, there would be familiar faces around me still.
I wished I could have had Hinu, but she was much too young. And Tuni, but she was too pretty. Perin said she might suit one of his brothers, when the time came.
Far out we lay, now, a mere leaf on the gargantuan expanse of the sea. Almost nothing remained of my home, just a haze on the horizon. Fear gripped me, sudden and sharp.
Monsters swam in the depths below. So men said. I leaned over, chill with terror, convinced I would see one of them rise up towards me with mouth agape. But I saw nothing but ripples, and flinched as stark light reflected from the restless surface.
And what could I do, anyway, should monsters claim me? I'd never wrestled in my life.
Not like the men. I cast a surreptitious glance at Perin. Him I'd seen, oiled and slick, besting several of my brothers. Not all of them, and once or twice I'd caught a fierce glare and fiercer word from him about it. But mostly he'd laughed and shrugged it off, and gone into the next bout undaunted.
A cheerful man, I'd thought then, even-tempered and good-natured as befitted a grown man and a worthy husband. My mother had warned me about men who snarled and sneered, said if they had no more trust in their own strength than that they were nothing for a woman to rely on. And she was right, I was sure of it. My own father never raised his voice, never said a cruel word or moved to strike a blow in anger, yet everyone thought well of him and listened when he spoke.
"There." Perin laid his oar aside and pointed. "You'll see it at its best, with the setting sun behind it."
It rose from the sea, a sliver of land growing into a mound, and then a mountain clad in lush jungle. The sky behind it caught fire, and against that vivid light the shape of the land rose dark like a door into eternal night. Like the deeps below, I thought - and shuddered then, felt a chill grip close around my limbs, struggled to breathe.
But we were welcomed, we were honoured: my new mothers and sisters and aunts embraced me and called me their darling, fed me and stroked me and praised me at every word. Left me at last alone in the gloom of an unfamiliar house, smelling of other bodies than the ones I'd always known, but eerily familiar with its scent of palm leaves and stamped soil.
Perin came to me then, alone likewise, and we found each other's bodies, touched skin to skin. Lay close together, sated, and listened to the slow roll of waves against the shore.
###
He didn't fish, Perin. I discovered that within a week. Just brought me fruits he'd gathered on his expeditions around the island, game he'd hunted with the other men. Coconuts, every morning, without me ever having to ask. But not fish.
At first I thought nothing of it. We were newly married, he did not like to put far out to sea, he wished to show me all that his own island had to offer. Slowly, though, I began to wonder. And then to ask.
"I don't care for it cooked." He gave me that odd smile of his, friendly and cheerful, but with an odd glint to it that filled me with a strange foreboding. "Give me land food. I'll be happy enough."
"I like fish." Perhaps there was a touch of petulance in my tone. Our first argument! Now we really were a married couple. "Will you not bring me any? I shall be ashamed in front of your sisters."
"Are you unhappy with anything I bring?" Still that smile, and the pleasant tone, and my own unshakeable fear that something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
"No, not at all."
"Well, then."
So I let it be, and did not argue with him again. Over that, or anything else. Because I'd had the most dreadful feeling, just for a moment, that monsters were rising up from the deep.
But I took to watching him. Early in the morning - he was up before anyone else. And late at night, also, when he thought I was asleep.
Sometimes he would steal away by himself. For the most obvious need, I thought at first. But something about the way he moved puzzled me. He slid, almost: glided across the sand with the smooth ripple of a snake. I'd seen that movement before, somewhere else, but I couldn't think where. And always it gave me the same feeling, of darkness and chill and sharp teeth waiting somewhere far below.
"Where do you go?" I asked him once. "At night, when everyone's sleeping. I wake up and you're not here."
He looked utterly surprised. "Nowhere. Maybe you dreamt it." And he was careful, after that, to touch me or speak to me before he left. I feigned sleep, I'd learned to do it well when Mother wanted me for chores. The first few nights he stayed with me regardless, but after that he sneaked away as before.
So I followed him. A shameful betrayal of the trust a wife should have for her husband, but I could not sleep for fretting. There were pretty girls here, too - prettier than Tuni, even - and I had never been noted for my beauty. As yet I had not dared to ask him why he picked me.
Which is why I slipped out into the night, and trailed my husband as he eased his way along. Out of the village - not towards the boats, and not into any of the houses. Relief gushed through me, so strong that I faltered in my steps. Perhaps he had a secret errand no one should know about, lest it put everyone in danger.
I could still go back. Hide in our house, and never tell him of my doubts, and never permit myself to indulge them again.
But I didn't. Curiosity proved too strong. I followed him as he cut across the reef wall that sheltered the village from storms, slithered after him through dank undergrowth that clung to my feet. Held my breath and melted into the shadows, every time he paused. I could barely see him, a mere hint of a shape; it was movement alone that betrayed him. But he didn't hurry, he seemed to have all night.
Finally he ducked down into a little cove, set into the mountainside where jungle spilled out towards the sea. I'd explored there with the hostages, it was the only place on the island that looked directly towards our home. So they'd told me, and I believed them.
Perin slid out onto the sand. He paused for a moment and glanced back towards me. I stilled against the undergrowth, held my breath, and prayed. Because if he caught me he'd kill me, I was sure of it, though I couldn't guess why.
Satisfied, or at least not disturbed by my presence there, he turned towards the ocean and waded out into the water. Long lazy strides, signalled by ripples that glistened with moonlight. Further, and deeper, until I began to fear for his safety and not my own.
"Come in," he called - very softly, the way he'd spoken to me in our own bed. This time I didn't move, and didn't answer.
He swam back towards me - those slow gliding movements again, and I knew now
where I had seen them before. From the cliff at the edge of my home village, where I'd sat and watched sharks gather and circle below. I never found out what they came for, and where they went afterwards. Certainly they had never shown any inclination to attack. Perhaps they thought I would simply fall into their grasp, like ripe fruit left to hang on the branch for too long.
"Wife?" He did not insult me by using my name. "Come in. You're safe with me."
But I wasn't. Or feared that I wasn't. Who would defend me, if he decided I was worth the kill?
Perin emerged from the water - limping slightly, or lurching maybe, as if not yet quite used to legs. Moved directly towards me, with such certainty that I could not bring myself to slink away. He already knew I was there, I could not hope to escape. So I crouched there, rigid with fear, until he came close enough to touch me.
What a strange touch it was - dry and rough, nothing like his skin. And cold, like the flesh of dead things.
"You know what I am now," he murmured. "I hoped to keep it from you. Because I thought you'd fear me, or hate me, or plead to be sent away. And I can't bear that."
I said nothing. But I let him touch me again, bring me close into - not quite an embrace. A grip gentle as a lover's nibble, yet inexorable as the sea.
"You know what I am," he whispered. "Did you guess it from the first?"
I hadn't. Still didn't know, not for sure.
"We call them shark spirits." My voice scrabbled for a hold on my throat. "People who can take the form of sharks. I always thought they were just a story."
"All stories are true." He slid onto the bank beside me, skin close to my own. Dank skin, cool with water dripping. "Those ones especially. I always knew, ever since I was a baby. They couldn't keep me from the water." He smiled a little, I could hear it in his voice.
"Don't tell me any more." My voice shook now, as it emerged into the chill light of the moon. "I want to go home."
"You are home. This is your home. And you are not leaving."
