Storyteller

by Amy Thomson

  "I understand," Abeha replied, "samad, would you

  LIKE TO STAY AND WATCH?"

  "Go ahead, Samad," Teller told him when he turned to ask her. "I'll be fine. Besides, one of us should witness this. Maybe someday you can make a story about it. Take the Esmeralda's inflatable raft, and row ashore when they're done."

  Samad tucked the lightweight package of the raft under one arm and leaped from the railing of the boat onto Abeha's back. Teller handed across the paddles for the raft, then she turned the Esmeralda's helm, trimmed the main­sail, and sped back out of the channel.

  "Where's she going?" Samad enquired.

  "the channel is closed to human shipping until after the mating is over. she's sailing around to a

  HARBOR ON THE OTHER SIDE OF ZAFRAN ISLAND," Abeha

  informed him.

  "When will the mating start?" Samad asked.

  "not for several more days, we're waiting for the tides to peak. and there are still more harsels

  COMING."

  "More?" Samad remarked incredulously, "Where will they all go?"

  "the entrance to the mating bay is farther down the channel. there's a long, narrow passage into the bay. the bay's restricted access makes it perfect for mating."

  "Then this isn't where you mate?" Samad asked.

  "no, we are waiting for the two-moon tide, that

  WILL NOT HAPPEN FOR SEVERAL MORE DAYS." Abeha told

  him. "hush now, the harsels are starting their wel­coming CEREMONY."

  The fleet of females opened up an aisle in the middle of the channel. Abeha glided majestically toward them. As they passed down this aisle, a chorus of mindsong broke out. The music was majestically joyous. Samad could feel Abeha's pride at this acknowledgment and greeting. The great harsel was at last following the path laid out for her kind. There was joy in doing this, mixed with the knowl­edge of pain and death to come. But without that pain and loss, there could be no continuity, no new harsels in the world. Sharing the songs, Samad understood why Abeha was doing this. He wished that Teller were here to share what he was feeling.

  "she has felt it before, samad," Abeha told him. "she understands, but her pain is too great."

  Samad nodded.

  "I KNOW HER PAIN, AND I AM TRYING TO HELP HER, BUT TODAY I MUST BE A HARSEL, FOLLOWING A HARSEL'S PATH. LISTEN WITH ME NOW. WE WILL WORRY ABOUT TELLER TO­MORROW."

  Samad closed his eyes and let the complex, bell-like mu­sic ring through his mind. The songs spoke of generations of harsels sailing the wide, windy oceans. There was a sense of ancient depths, of birth and rebirth, sadness and joy. The harsels' music swept him out of himself and into an alien sense of time and place.

  "samad. samad. wake up. it's time for you to go," Abeha said, interrupting the flow of the mindsong.

  It took a minute for Samad to shake off the trance. When he opened his eyes, the sun, trailed by the moons Amphitrite and Thetis, was about a handspan above the top of the long, high ridge of land that jutted out into the channel.

  On it Samad could see a dark cluster of trees, with a vine­yard spread out below.

  "the taverna is up on that ridge," Abeha told him. "teller will be waiting for you."

  Samad nodded, still feeling a little dazed from the mind-song. "I see it," he told Abeha.

  "the entrance to the mating bay is around that point. you and teller will be able to watch us en­ter the bay from up there. I understand that it's quite a sight."

  "I'll need to hurry, if I want to get to the taverna before dark," Samad told Abeha.

  "you get the raft ready, and I'll go as close to shore as I can," Abeha told him.

  Samad unrolled the raft and opened the inflation valve. There was a throbbing flutter and a hiss of indrawn air as the raft inflated itself. When the raft was nearly inflated, he coupled the blades of the paddles to the oar shafts, then stood waiting as the harsel sailed in to shore.

  Abeha turned into the wind, "this is as close as I can

  COME. THERE'S A BIT OF SHELTER BEHIND THAT BIG ROCK FOR YOU TO BEACH THE RAFT."

  "Thank you, Abeha," Samad said as he pushed off. "Good luck in the mating."

  Abeha replied with a wordless, mental embrace, filled with love, pride, and sadness. Beneath that embrace, Samad could feel a tiny, suppressed knot of fear.

  "If you need me for anything Abeha, just let me know."

  "thank you, samad." Abeha replied. Samad felt the harsel's knot of fear relax a little, and he smiled.

  Abeha unfurled her sail and came about. Samad bent his back to rowing, watching as the harsel sailed out of the shadow of the ridge into the late afternoon sunlight. Her sails gleamed in the soft, golden light. Samad blinked away

  a sudden stinging in his eyes that was not due to windblown spray. He would miss Abeha terribly.

  The taverna was hot, crowded, and smoky. Samad pushed his way through knots of loud, laughing, off-world tourists and somber groups of har captains. He found Teller sitting alone in a dark comer with a half-empty bottle of retsina. Judging from the determined way Teller was drinking, she was clearly beginning a massive drunk. Samad sat down be­side her. There was a burst of laughter from a group of tall, pale, glitter-clad outworlders two tables over. Teller glanced at them, her frown deepening.

  "Goddamned tourists," she muttered and took another swig from her bottle of retsina.

  "You planning on staying drunk the whole time?" Samad asked.

  Teller nodded, shrugged, then looked away. "Best way I can think of to get through it."

  "What if Abeha needs you?"

  "For what?" Teller asked.

  "I don't know, Teller," Samad replied, "but she's scared."

  "I know," Teller replied. "So am I."

  "What if she hangs up in the channel?" Samad asked. "What if something goes wrong during the mating?" What if I need you? he thought.

  "I have faith in Abeha. She knows what she's doing." Teller looked down at the names carved into the table's worn wood surface, her hands moving caressingly over the tabletop. "Mating's a matter for harsels," Teller told Samad. "If Abeha needs help, she'll have to get it from the other harsels. Interfering, even to help, would be a major violation of the Compact. The harsels would all leave their har cap­tains, and we'd have to get by with human-built boats." She shook her head. "That would work well enough for the big

  islands, but there are thousands of small, isolated settle­ments on the out-islands that would be totally cut off from the outside world." She shook her head. "So there's nothing to do but sit and worry." Teller picked up the bottle and took another pull. "And drink," she finished, brandishing the bottle defiantly.

  Samad fled upstairs to their room without a word. Throwing his bags into a corner, he flopped down on the bed, exhausted. He was fed up with Teller's drinking. De­spite his efforts to stop them, tears of hurt, fear, and defeat forced themselves out from under Samad's eyelids. He turned over, letting the tears flow onto the pillow, crying silently in the dim, lonely, rented room.

  Samad woke to fingers of morning light gilding the wall beside him. Teller lay in the other bed, snoring loudly. Samad got up, combed his fingers through his unkempt, curly hair, and went downstairs to see if he could find some breakfast. He felt grumpy and out of sorts, as hungover from stress as Teller would be from last night's drunk.

  Alazne Uberagua was up and bustling quietly about the nearly deserted early morning dining room. She nodded wordlessly at Samad as he sat down. She set a tiny cup of thick black coffee in front of him, along with a large glass of fresh orange juice, and four small pastries, each no more than a bite or two, to hold him until his real breakfast came. It was the custom of the tavernas in the Samal wa Sarq group of archipelagos, and welcome today.

  "Kahlee mehra, Samad!" a cheerful voice called across the dining room. "Good morning!"

  Samad looked up. To his dismay he realized Florio was standing at the entrance to the dining room. "Yasas," he mumbled grudgingly, "Hello."

  Florio c
ame over to his table. "So Teller's here already, is she?"

  Samad nodded, concentrating on his sweet rolls, hoping that Florio would take the hint and go away.

  "How is Abeha doing?"

  Samad shrugged, still not looking up.

  "And Teller, is she all right?"

  Samad shrugged again.

  "Look, Samad. I'm sorry about stealing Teller from you for an evening. It was awkwardly done, and I regret it, but I care about Teller, too. I'm here to do what I can for her, and for you, too, if you'll let me."

  Samad stared stonily at his cooling coffee, trying not to let his anger show. Florio sighed and stood up. "You shouldn't have to do this all by yourself, Samad. I love her, too. Let me know if I can help," he said, and walked back to his table, shoulders slumped. Samad looked up as he walked away. He remembered Teller drinking her pain away last night, and how overwhelmed he felt by it.

  "Hey," Samad called out to Florio's retreating back. "Wait. I—I'm sorry."

  Florio turned back to Samad. "It's forgotten," he told Samad, with a wave of his hand. "May I join you for breakfast?"

  Samad nodded, and Florio sat down across from Samad and waited for him to speak. The landlady set a plate of pas­tries and a cup of coffee down in front of Florio.

  "She drank a lot last night," Samad told him when the innkeeper had gone back into the kitchen. He looked across at the empty corner where Teller had sat last night. "It—" He shrugged. "It scares me when she does that," he admitted.

  "You know there isn't much you can do," Florio told him, his brown eyes intent on Samad's face.

  Samad shrugged. "But I'm supposed to take care of her. I promised Abeha—"

  Florio put a hand on Samad's arm. "Samad. It's not your fault, and you shouldn't blame yourself. You can't fix this. Only Teller can."

  "But how can I stop her?" Samad persisted.

  Florio sighed. "Teller's certainly taught you how to be stubborn. I tell you what. Let's take her on a hike into the hills today. If we wear her out, she'll be too tired to drink."

  "I don't know—" Samad began.

  "Me, either," Florio confessed, "but have you got a better idea?"

  "No, but she's tough as ironwood," Samad said, remem­bering how hard it had been to keep up with her on her long, grueling hikes. "I don't think we'll wear her out."

  "At least we'll get her out of this damned bar," Florio pointed out. "These off-world tourists would drive even a stone mad!"

  Samad grinned. "You should have seen them last night. All dressed up like a whore's breakfast. I never saw so much glitter and so few clothes on one person before."

  Florio roared with laughter, his head thrown back and his eyes mere slits in his face.

  "A whore's breakfast!" the storyteller exclaimed when he got his breath back. "Thank you, Samad. Now every time I see one of those overdressed off-world tarts, I'll be fighting back a smile. If I'm not careful, they'll think I'm flirting with them. It's bound to lead to trouble!"

  Samad laughed with Florio and felt the tightness in his chest ease. He was suddenly grateful for the storyteller's company. He wasn't going to have to go through this all by himself.

  Teller finally emerged around noon, morose and hungover. Samad and Florio fed her breakfast and whisked her out of the inn before she was awake enough to protest. They walked through vineyards, orchards, and groves of olives

  and native agrito trees, whose fruit was a popular local condiment.

  Once past the cultivated hills, they walked up and over the spine of the ridge and down into the next valley, where they were entirely surrounded by rolling hills covered with golden grass. Ahead was a small range of mountains; the tallest had a tiny cap of snow on its peak. The land was empty, except for an occasional herd of sheep off in the dis­tance. Evening found them out on the hills. They sheltered in a small shepherd's hut built of stone, with a little cluster of citrus trees in a small yard ringed with sharp stones to fend off grazing animals. The trees were watered by a trick­ling stream that cascaded from a crevice at the base of a mas­sive, curving rock that formed one wall and part of the roof of the little hut.

  Florio pulled out a loaf of bread, some cheese, olives, and a slightly wilted salad. They harvested a few ripe oranges from the trees and ate a decent, if rough, meal.

  Sitting in front of a small fire of branches from the wood­pile, Teller leaned back against the yellow stone wall of the hut and sighed.

  "Thanks for getting me out of that inn. I think if I'd spent another night there, I might have strangled one of those damned squawking tourists. And that would have not done the Uberaguas any favors. Alazne's been kind enough to put us up, when she could sell my room to an off-worlder for twenty times what I'm paying her. You know one of them actually tried to interview me yesterday about Abeha. God only knows how he knew who I was." She shook her head ruefully.

  Samad touched her arm. "I'm sorry I wasn't there," he apologized. "I would have chased him away."

  Teller smiled. "I doubt it. He was slipperier than toadfish slime, that one."

  "I wish I'd been there too," Florio said. "I'd've liked to have heard you tell him off. You probably handed him his huevos on a plate."

  "I only wish that were true," Teller said ruefully. "I was so surprised that I just told him to go away and poured my­self another drink. It was Alazne's son Erramun who shooed him away." She grinned. "That boy's gotten big since I last saw him. He's like an oak tree with legs. His grandfather was like that, too, at his age." Her glance slid sideways to Samad, "Or so Alazne tells me," she added.

  "I was glad to get out of there, too," Samad admitted. "It was Florio's idea."

  Teller took Florio's hand. "Thank you, aghapitos," she told him.

  "It was my pleasure, aghapitee," Florio said, looking warmly back at her. "You know that."

  The air seemed suddenly thick and soupy to Samad. "I think I'll take a walk," he declared, standing.

  He went outside and stood, waiting as his eyes adjusted to the light. From inside, he heard Teller murmuring some­thing to Florio. There was a smoky note of warmth in her voice that Samad recognized from the first time that he'd heard her talk to Florio.

  He heard Florio say something back to Teller, and she laughed her rich, rough laugh. Then there was silence.

  Samad looked up. The two moons were hanging low in the western sky, two dwindling crescents. They were closer together than he ever remembered seeing them before. Ac­cording to Teller, in another four days, they would be close enough that little Thetis would slowly pass behind larger Amphitrite. It would take nearly a day for the eclipse to fin­ish. For the next few days, the tides would be extreme, very high tides followed by very low tides. It was then that the harsels would mate. Their mating bay was the largest and

  deepest of the few saltwater bays where the tides were low enough and the channel narrow enough to provide the nec­essary conditions for the harsels to mate successfully.

  He heard Teller laugh again and murmur something to Florio. Samad walked down the grassy slope, lighting his way with a tiny pocket torch, away from the sound of their amorous voices. He lay down in the grass, feeling a little lonely and sorry for himself but relieved that the burden of Teller's sadness lay on someone else's shoulders for a while.

  It was a beautiful night. Samad looked up at the deep, star-studded, plum-purple of the night sky, wondering what sex felt like. He couldn't imagine himself with a girl, but that would probably change as he grew up.

  He was starting to drop off to sleep when he heard a se­ries of distant rhythmical cries of passion, rising for a minute or two, and then silence. He waited another twenty minutes and then got up and wandered slowly back to the hut that lay like a dark smudge in a fold of the silent, eter­nal hills.

  In the light from the fire, Samad could just make out Teller and Florio lying together on the far side of the fire. Teller's quiet breathy snuffle mingled with Florio's deeper, rumbling snore. Samad's bedroll was spread ready for him
. He lay down and let sleep take him.

  The next morning, they sat by the fire and ate a cold break­fast of oranges and stale bread smeared with honey. Golden beams of morning light speared in through the propped-open door, illuminating the stone hut's red-earth floor and the walls of yellow stone. Outside, a greenthrush caroled the same sweet four-note song over and over in the morning air. "It's so peaceful here. I wish we didn't have to go back to the inn," Teller said, putting a couple of small coins into the

  tin box on the mantelpiece in payment for their lodging and the oranges.

  "Me, too," Florio agreed. "But we're out of food, except for oranges."

  "I could go back to the inn and get some," Samad volun­teered. "Then we could stay out here another night."

  "But then we'd miss the harsels' entrance into the chan­nel," Teller protested.

  "You know, you are a har captain. You're permitted within the restricted zone," Florio pointed out. "We could move out of the inn entirely and go stay out on the other side of the point. Then it would be just us and the harsels. Between us we've got enough camping gear to do it."

  "It would be fun, Teller!" Samad said. "And no stupid off-worlders either!"

  Teller shook her head, "I promised Alazne and Karmel that I'd tell stories about the harsels."

  "I'll do it," Florio offered. "You've got enough on your mind, aghapitee. I know most of the harsel stories, and I can tell them as well as you can. You shouldn't have to deal with a bunch of off-world tourists at a time like this."

  "Well..." Teller began, clearly wavering.

  "Let's do it!" Samad urged. "I'm tired of inns, and this way the Uberaguas can make more money from the off-worlders."

  "All right! All right! But if the weather turns bad, don't blame me," Teller conceded.

  "Then it's settled," Florio declared. "Let's head back to the inn and check out."

  And so they found themselves a campsite amid a grove of furry-barked farwa trees on the point overlooking the chan­nel into Mohai Bay. Their camp was only half an hour's walk back to Uberagua's taverna, but it felt like they were the only ones on the whole island. If they headed out along the