by Alia Hess
Trav’s smile disappeared and she wished she could take back the words.
“He was here?” He stood up, scanning the crowd, then left the table, walking in the direction of a small cluster of people.
Owl lingered at the table for a moment, then followed him, leaning against a tree as Trav approached Darksky. The man’s gaze narrowed, lip twitching.
“I’m surprised to see you here,” Trav said in a level tone.
A painfully fake smile spread across Darksky’s face. “It’s your ceremony.”
“Since when do you care about me?”
“I didn’t say I did.” Darksky glanced past Trav, into the crowd, then looked back. “Elder Quietbird encourages us to speak more freely now than Redcloud did. Do you want me to speak freely to you?”
It sounded like a challenge. Trav’s jaw tightened. “Of course. You’re my father. Politeness is for neighbors and strangers.”
People within earshot turned and milled in other directions, but didn’t leave the area, glancing back over their shoulders.
Darksky’s nostrils flared. “I came to see just what a mockery of a ceremony your clown of a cousin would create. What a farce. You never had a vision, and Quietbird let you get a name anyway.”
Trav swallowed but didn’t speak. Darksky looked at Owl. His stare could have killed her. “And to top it off, you brought a Mainlander back with you. Here, to Nis. But I guess I shouldn’t expect any less from your mother’s half-breed love child.”
Trav’s lip trembled with rage. “You know, I found something out during my time on the Mainland. I’m not half-Mainlander. I’m albino. It’s a mutation—a real thing. Mom never cheated on you. You are my father. Whether you want to be or not.”
Darksky huffed, his face never changing. “Whatever you are, you’ll always be a disappointment. This joke of a ceremony isn’t the end of that, I’m sure. Not now that you’re with this—this Mainlander. Have you no brain? Don’t you remember how people treated you, believing you were a half-breed? If you have children with this woman, it will be the same thing all over again for them. Hybrid brats with bastardized, muddied culture of Mainland and Nisian ideas. You disgust me. You’re not my son. Nor will you ever be, whether we share the same blood or not.”
Trav shook as he stared at his father. People around them whispered to each other but pretended like they weren’t paying attention. Darksky turned to go, then looked back, pointing a finger at Owl. She tried to shrink into the tree behind her.
“And one other thing. You, young lady. How dare you think you can traipse in here and invade the sanctity of our island. I hope you don’t expect to be treated as an equal. Quietbird may have your back, but the Elder’s word only goes so far, and it won’t change the attitude of this village. You may think the things I’ve said are harsh and unfair, but I’m only speaking the collective thoughts of everyone here. They’re just too polite to say something to the two of you. And look around—many have left already. I predict in a couple of years down the road, if not sooner, you two will be made to feel so unwelcome here that you’ll be driven off Nis. Probably end up in some sad little shack in the poorest sector of Pearlolla, with your filthy little half-breed children splashing around in the shit-water—”
Trav slugged his father in the face. People gasped as Darksky staggered backward. Trav pushed him, knocking him to the ground.
“Fuck you, Darksky! Fuck you. How dare you say these things to me! To her. I failed to get a vision because taking care of Mom was more important. And where were you? Screwing around on Tam while Mom was dying. People that weren’t even friends with Mom had more sympathy for her than you did. You acted like you didn’t even know us.” Trav laughed humorlessly. “Which I suppose was better than when you lived with us. Constantly treating me like an embarrassment—like this blight on your existence. You hated me so much I’m honestly surprised that you didn’t drown me in the ocean when I was a baby.”
Darksky wiped blood from his chin and picked himself up off the ground. People in the crowd stood where they were, trying to look at anything other than the confrontation.
“I thought about it.”
Trav’s face became a snarl, and he clenched his fists. “Owl has shown me more kindness than you ever have and more kindness than most of the people in this village. I’m in love with her. And if we want to have children together someday, we will. Go on, be disgusted. See if I give a shit.”
Owl put a hand over her mouth to hide a smile.
Trav looked at the rest of the crowd and they averted their gaze. “That goes for the rest of you too. I appreciate everyone’s support, but if you don’t like me, then leave like the others. And judge me all you want but know that I’m not here to change everything. I’m here because this is my home too, whether you like it or not.”
Darksky was already walking away. Several people followed him. The rest of the crowd remained, glancing at each other uneasily. Quietbird pushed through people and put his arm around Trav. He sighed and shook his head, then gave him an uncomfortable smile. “Screw that guy. Come sit down. Have another drink. This is your party. Did you see how many people left? Like five. They want you here. They want Owl here. Will you have ugly, disgusting babies? Yeah, probably. But only because they’ll take after you.”
Quietbird laughed and elbowed Trav, but Trav didn’t look amused. “The people that are still here are just too polite to leave. But I’m sure they’ll be gossiping up a storm later.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. You can’t believe how much people have loosened up since I’ve become Elder. Sometimes I feel like I’m on Pearlolla.”
Trav shook his head. “Yeah right.”
Owl and Trav sat at their table again. Trav stared into his plate of food, mouth pulled down. Owl touched his leg. “Are you okay?”
Trav nodded.
“I shouldn’t have told you he was here.”
“No, that’s been building for a long time. Not the most appropriate time to punch my father, but… I do feel a little bit better now.”
The crowd talked in low tones, glancing at Trav with something like fear and awe. She tried to ignore them.
“I got you a present.”
Trav raised his eyebrows.
“You like fishing, right?”
“I love fishing.”
Owl held out a box. “The guy I asked said these were the best ones, and I don’t know anything about fishing, so I hope you like them.”
Trav opened the box. Inside were three intricately carved fishing hooks made of shell, bound in thin, knotted cord. The iridescent surface of the hooks shimmered in pinks and blues. Each one was a little bit different, and one was tied with colorful feathers. He looked up and tried to contain a smile.
“Thank you. These are really nice.” He hugged her. “Do you want me to teach you how to fish?”
“Yeah. It’s a date.”
A teenage boy—she was pretty sure he was one of Bushberry’s kids—sat down across from them. “Man, I can’t believe you punched your dad in the mouth. That was awesome. This place is so boring most of the time. I’m going on my naming quest in a few years. I wish I could go to the Mainland like you. Now that everyone just camps on Foxtail it’s really lame. No one has cool stories or adventures. People say you’re the last person to come back from a naming quest on the Mainland, and there won’t be anyone else.”
Trav nodded. “That’s probably true. But you’d be sold into slavery if you went there now.”
“But you guys weren’t.”
“We went far south, around the slaver territory, and then took a fast ship back here.”
“Maybe that’s what everyone should do then. But Uncle Quietbird gets to make the rules. …You ever kill anyone while you were there?”
Trav smirked, then leaned forward and pointed to his nose. “See this scar? I got that fighting highwaymen. And this black eye and split lip? I beat someone to a pulp the other day. There were others too.”
The te
enager’s eyes widened. “You’re amazing. My dad is so boring. He doesn’t even remember anything he saw while he was on his naming quest. And I don’t think my mom even did hers right.” He looked at Owl. “You ever kill anyone?”
“Yes.”
“Is that how you got your scars?”
Owl looked at the table. “Yeah…”
“Those are awesome. You look super cool.” He leaned in. “You know, people don’t like Mainlanders here. Because they’re tough. They grew up in the wasteland. They know how to fight and survive. Everyone here only goes for a couple of months and they all complain about how hard it is. You lived there. And Uncle Roadtraveler, you’re like a Mainlander now too, with all your scars and stories. I’m so jealous.”
Trav put a hand over his mouth and chuckled. Owl scanned the crowd. Maybe these people resented her for a wholly different reason. She touched the scars on her forehead, thinking.
“Anyway, congratulations, Uncle Roadtraveler.”
“Thanks. You can call me Trav if you want.”
“Okay. See ya, Uncle Trav. Aunt Owl.”
Owl snickered as the boy left the table. “I’m Aunt Owl now, huh? Guess I got a new name too.”
That evening, Owl sat at the rustic table in the front room of her new house, her letter from her parents in front of her, as well as a blank piece of notebook paper and a pen. She looked over the letter, hovering over the line that read: “You and Adam should move here too.”
Trav sat on the floor in a billowy shirt and shorts, the slightest shimmer of blond hair on his shaved head. He pawed through a box, pulling out fishing line, knives, carved wooden knick knacks and a myriad of other things, occasionally saying, “I remember this.” Owl smiled and turned her attention back to her blank page.
She set her pen to the paper and wrote, “Dear Mom and Dad…”
16 ~ Nesting ~
January 06, 153—I still can’t get over Trav’s bald head.
January 11, 153—Jury’s still out on exactly how most of Nis feels toward us, since everyone is so polite to my face, but gossip around town has been all about us, apparently. Owl and Roadtraveler, Nis’ most notorious couple, ha ha. I expected someone to egg our house by now, but maybe they’re all too scared.
“Don’t let Seasalt talk you into anything you don’t want to buy.” Trav paused his brushstrokes on the bedroom wall of their house and looked at Owl. A drop of sage green paint spattered on the floor. “She’s nice but opinionated.”
Owl slipped on her woven sandals and adjusted her new red dress. Wearing anything other than jeans and boots was still strange. How did one even sit in a skirt? She couldn’t change her mind, though—Trav’s eyes had gotten so big just at the suggestion of wearing it.
“Seasalt’s house looks nice. I don’t mind if she has some recommendations on what kind of curtains or bedsheets to get.”
Trav dipped his paintbrush in a bowl of paint and applied it to the faded green wall. “Yeah, well, she picks out Quietbird’s outfits for him too, so… Just don’t let her go overboard.”
Owl chuckled. “Alright.” She rounded the bed to Trav, then kissed his shorn head.
He paused for a moment to kiss her back, eyeing her red dress. “You still want me to take you fishing today?”
“Of course.”
Trav smiled and resumed his work on the wall.
She left the bedroom, walking through the hall and into the front room. Tools, brushes, and paint powders sat on the table.
We’re making something for ourselves here. Creating a little slice of comfort just for us.
Once outside, she glanced at the exterior of their home before heading up the path. At the moment, it looked a little like the houses on the Mainland—faded and dusty and overgrown with wild plants.
Our neighbors probably think since I’m from the Mainland that I want our house in disrepair.
Some new paint, curtains, and dishes would go a long way toward making the place look more like a home. Then they could start on the garden—and those Stargazers Trav promised her.
Owl walked up the cobblestone path behind the village, following the tiny river that chattered along near the moon tree forest. The bulbous trees’ white bark hung from the fat trunks in flaky tatters. Yesterday, Trav pointed out tiny green birds pulling at the bark. He said they used it for nesting material and constantly pecked at the trunks.
She pulled in the rich, salty air, climbing the path to Quietbird and Seasalt’s ornate house at the hill’s crest.
One step at a time. Fix the house. Start the garden. Learn how to cook fish. Get the villagers to warm up to you. Stop trying to think about everything all at once.
She still received quite a few stares of veiled-indignation when in public. Going to the market with Seasalt might not be any better than going with Trav, but the villagers would have to get used to seeing her at some point.
This tiny path behind the village was fairly unused—quiet and peaceful. Other people preferred more direct, well-trodden roads through the rows of shimmery gray-white houses, politely talking amongst themselves (or maybe gossiping.) Owl was grateful for the alone time.
She passed several large homes. A woman stood in her yard, dumping a basket of scraps into a trough inside a pen. Immediately, several crimson hogs ran through the mud, snorting and snuffling. Owl stopped, shifting her weight to see the creatures through the slats of the pen’s fence. The woman was inspecting her curiously as though she were a similarly bizarre animal.
To hell with it.
Owl stepped to the edge of the woman’s yard. “Hi.”
The woman’s return smile looked frightened and painful.
Owl dropped her gaze to the hogs to avoid the woman’s eyes. Their long, bristly manes wobbled as they munched on food scraps, tiny tails swishing flies from their fat bottoms. The largest hog looked up as it chewed, its yellow tusks corkscrewing around its face like ribbons.
“These are neat. What are they called?”
The woman tugged at her black braid. “Curly rust boars.”
“Huh. I had some pigs growing up, but they didn’t look like these.” Owl leaned over the fence.
“…What did your pigs look like?” The woman seemed slightly less uncomfortable than before.
“They weren’t hairy like these. They had smooth pink skin. No tusks. Soft, cute little faces.”
She smiled and it looked almost real. “There are cute animals on the Mainland?”
Owl shrugged. “Sure. You’ve been to the Mainland, right?”
“Yes, but only for two months. And I didn’t see anything cute while I was there. Only rusty metal and towns where people yelled and tried to spit on me.”
Owl pursed her lips. “Yeah… I saw people do that stuff to Trav too.”
“But you’re not like that.” It was almost a question.
“No. Of course not.”
“Do you like Roadtraveler because he’s light like a Mainlander?” The words felt like an accusation, but there was innocent curiosity in her voice.
“I like Trav because he’s Trav. For who he is on the inside. Same reason I like anyone.” Owl rubbed at her face.
The woman nodded. “I’m Blackfish.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Owl.”
“I know.”
Owl shifted and looked down the path. “Uh, I should go now. Seasalt is waiting for me.”
“Okay. See you around, sister.” She smiled.
Owl smirked. “Good-bye.”
She passed several more homes before reaching the Elder’s house. She knocked on the thick double doors, her eyes tracking carved filigree patterns on the dark wood. After a moment, Seasalt answered.
She smiled, her mirthful eyes shining and multiple bangles on her wrist jangling together as she beckoned Owl inside. “Come in!”
Owl followed Seasalt inside. The woman looked her up and down, then flipped one braid over her shoulder. “That dress is so pretty. Did you just get it?”
&n
bsp; “Yes. Yesterday. Trav seemed pretty excited about it.”
“That’s probably because it looks so great on you. You should wear dresses more often. We could get you another today.” Seasalt put a hand to her mouth. “I have a pair of earrings that matches that color perfectly. Hang on.”
Owl shuffled her feet, standing awkwardly in the large front hall as Seasalt disappeared into a room. Quietbird entered from an adjacent hallway, munching on something. He grinned when he saw her.
“Hey! You got roped into going shopping, huh? Where’d my wife go?”
“Said she was getting me some earrings.”
Quietbird nodded. “You look nice. What’s Trav up to? Still painting?”
“Yeah. He’s working on the bedroom now.”
Quietbird wiped his hands on his wide-legged green pants. “You sure you guys don’t want help? I can send some people down there right now and get all that painting done today. The outside too.”
Owl smiled and shook her head. “We’re actually having fun doing it ourselves. It’s nice. Going to work on the garden next.”
Seasalt entered the room with a pair of large red earrings. She held them up to Owl’s face. “Perfect.”
The earrings matched the dress, but weren’t Owl’s taste. She put them on anyway.
Seasalt beamed. “You know, you would look adorable with some braids. I have some red ties that—”
“Geez, Seasalt, leave the poor girl alone. She didn’t come here for a makeover.” Quietbird shook his head.
Seasalt’s smiling eyes narrowed momentarily on her husband, then went back to Owl. “Of course. Are you ready to go shopping?”
People in the crowded market sat on rugs under awnings, or stood behind tables and kiosks filled with different things—dried insects in a spicy coating, oysters, pottery, fishing lures, airy clothing in jewel tones, wooden toys, and bead necklaces. Despite Trav saying the market was limited and basic, Owl could have spent an entire day looking at the wares.
Seasalt pulled her along to a kiosk filled with bolts of fabric in many different colors. Owl rubbed the soft, silky material between her fingers. “What’s this made of?”