Black Sun

by Rebecca Roanhorse

  “My apologies if I insulted you,” she said. “I made a mistake asking you to come to the deck. I won’t do it again.”

  He sighed heavily, sounding disappointed. “As you wish it.” He turned to go.

  “Wait.” She reached out and grabbed his upper arm. His skin was cool, the haahan strangely tactile and sensual under her fingers. A thrill trilled through her body, as if she had stuck her hand in ice and found it did not freeze as much as soothe.

  He looked back at her, waiting, clearly unaware of the effect touching his bare skin had had on her. She quickly dropped her hand.

  “I will have someone bring you supper. In your room,” she added hastily.

  He stared at her a long moment, or at least it felt like he was staring. She didn’t know what his eyes did beneath that rag. Or if he even had eyes, despite his assurances last night that he had some command of his vision. She suspected there was something more to that, too.

  “Of course, Captain,” he finally said. “Whatever makes you and the crew comfortable.”

  * * *

  The day went on without incident. Xiala still navigated, keeping her watch on wind, wave, and sun, but her thoughts kept returning to Serapio. She had to admit that he fascinated her. He had an otherworldliness about him, much like herself. She could practically touch the magic rolling off him, and it made her wonder who he was. What he was. Someone had asked if he was a Watcher, but she suspected they meant to ask if he was a priest of some kind, but she thought he was not. Well, not exactly. He was something else, though, something tied in flesh and spirit to his god.

  Even so, she wasn’t convinced his presence was a blessing. But certainly Loob’s enthusiasm for the Obregi-now-Tovan was. Most of the crew seemed to have warmed to the idea that Serapio was, if not a good thing, at least not a curse. Even Callo stayed quiet about it, although she might have preferred him to make more of a scene, so she knew at least he was speaking his mind. This keeping his thoughts to himself was worrisome, but she would not push him just yet. He need not like Serapio’s being on the ship, only tolerate it.

  As evening began to approach and the crew broke for a meal, Xiala ordered Loob to take Serapio some of the porridge and salted fish Patu had laid out for supper. Loob was thrilled to do it, saying it was an honor and he would surely be blessed now.

  “Do you think the Odo Sedoh will speak to me?” he asked her, sounding breathless.

  “What?”

  “Just a few words, nothing special.”

  “I…” Xiala shrugged. “Why not?”

  Loob grinned and hurried off, fish and porridge in hand.

  Xiala watched him go, thoughtful.

  She let the men linger over their meal while she called to Callo to join her at the helm.

  “What is it?” he asked, not hostile but certainly lacking the warmth he’d had for her the night before. The man and his moods baffled her. She was tired of trying to guess if he was friend or foe. It was essential to know him, to anticipate him, and to keep him on her side. If only he didn’t make it so difficult.

  “There’s something I want to show you,” she said. She had thought about it all day, particularly in the wake of Serapio’s dramatic appearance on deck, and had come to a decision.

  He eyed her, all morose suspicion, but she only smiled. She motioned him to join her on the captain’s bench. He hesitated.

  “I won’t bite you,” she said. “You’re not my type.”

  His face darkened at that, and she reminded herself not to tease him. Another man like Loob or Baat might laugh, but as far as she could tell, Callo had no sense of humor.

  “Sit,” she said again, this time with more command in her voice. And he sat, keeping a distance between them, so much that his left buttock hung off the edge of the bench.

  She suppressed a comment.

  Xiala said, “You told me last night that the men rowing through the night would be too taxing.”

  “Aye,” Callo acknowledged slowly. “They could manage for a day or two perhaps, but a week or more? They’ll wear out. But if no one rows, we’ll be adrift, no more than a piece of rotted wood thrown into the sea.”

  “Propulsion, to hold direction.”

  “Aye.”

  She lifted her hand. “I have a solution. A Teek solution.”

  He sucked at his lip, watching her.

  “Tonight I paddle,” she said.

  Callo glanced back at the men huddled under the awning, their paddles resting unmanned against empty benches while they ate. “How?”

  “I can’t do it every night,” she said. “I must sleep, too. And it will not move us at the rate the men can achieve as twenty, when I am only one. But it is what I will give to this journey. For us all.”

  She stood, turning away from him, from the men under the awning with their bowls of food, and faced the water. Faced her mother. Not the woman who gave birth to her, but the sea, her true mother. The true mother of all her kind.

  She opened her mouth.

  And she Sang.

  The notes started somewhere deep in her chest. They rose through her throat, tripped delicately across her tongue, and flowed from her lips like the sounds of the ocean itself. She had picked a simple Song, one from her childhood, a gentle call to the sea, asking it to keep her safe and take her to distant shores. She improvised as she Sang, reminding the sea that they were kin, that the waves were her brothers and the salty brine her sister. That the animals that lived below the surface and swam the waters were her cousins, and that family helped family.

  And her mother responded. Almost unnoticeable at first, but then they were moving. Callo gripped the side of the canoe, eyes wide in awe.

  She Sang more, letting the Song build. Louder, but still gentle. A petition, not a command. And when she felt secure that they were on their way and the sea would continue to move them north-northwest as she requested, she let her voice trail off with an outro of gratitude.

  It was done. She swayed on her feet. Dropped heavily to the bench. She floated somewhere between exhaustion and exultation. She rarely let herself use her Song, and she had never Sung quite like that. The melody she had pulled from her past, and the words she had improvised, but what drove the Song was the emotion of it, the sincerity of her belief. And for a few moments, she had let herself believe entirely.

  She turned back to Callo only to find the whole crew standing beside him, watching her. Her heart sped up, and she braced herself. It was one thing to have a Teek captain, another to have her use her magic, even if it was for your benefit. She didn’t wholly trust the crew to accept it, despite how well they had handled all the other strange events of the voyage.

  But there was no anger, no fear.

  Just reverent faces, even Callo’s.

  She said, “I promised you the Tovasheh in sixteen days. You give everything you have, and I will give everything I have. That is the deal.”

  “Teek,” Callo said, respect, finally, in his voice.

  “Teek,” the crew echoed with the same wonder.

  She grinned. Gave them a small nod of acknowledgment.

  “Now rest,” she said, waving them away with a tired hand. “Don’t waste my work. My Song will push us forward until sunrise, and then some of you bastards will have to row.”

  “I’ll take first shift,” Loob offered happily.

  “Aye,” said Baat. “I’ll join him.” Others added their voices.

  She nodded, pleased. Her eyes roamed over the crew. One face missing. Patu. Where was her cook? Perhaps still not feeling well, but a thin trickle of worry wormed down her spine. Of all of them, he had resented Serapio the most. But surely Patu would never take matters into his own hands. But then, where was he?

  She was about to call for him when she spied the man, huddled well under the reed awning, wrapped in a striped blanket, and looking miserable. She had imagined the worst, Patu a potential murderer, when he was only ill. She whispered an apology to the sailor in her mind for think
ing him capable of such deeds.

  “Patu!” she called. “You rest both shifts. Someone cover his time on the paddle, and you’ll have extra cacao in your purse come end of the voyage.”

  A man with a steep sloping forehead and hair shaved high above his ears offered.

  “My thanks, Atan,” she said, remembering his name.

  It had been a risk, using her power like that, but she had decided that if she could not have Callo’s friendship, she would have his respect. She would have all of their respect. For as long as she could.

  CHAPTER 17

  THE CRESCENT SEA

  YEAR 325 OF THE SUN

  (19 DAYS BEFORE CONVERGENCE)

  My uncle allowed me to accompany him to the aviary today. It was a rare treat since only the riders are usually allowed, but his mount Paida has found a mate and would be leaving for their rookery soon. He told me crows mate for life, and I thought that impractical and said so. He laughed and explained that they are sexually promiscuous but loyal to their mates and that the two are different. I asked him if crows fell in love, and he assured me they did not.

  —From Observations on Crows, by Saaya, age thirteen

  The man who called himself Loob had brought Serapio his dinner. Loob had a light lilting accent and talked incessantly. He also seemed to be very much in awe of the Odo Sedoh. It was an interesting encounter. Serapio was used to being hated, feared even, but not respected. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it. It made their brief conversation awkward, and Serapio was glad when the man left.

  He felt Xiala’s Song before he heard it, a building of energy like a shift in the very atmosphere. Not unlike the way a late-afternoon storm would build over the valley during summer and release the gentle rain all at once.

  He listened as the notes wove around him. He recognized them for the magic they were. He felt vast energy moving, being redirected. But it was different from what he did when he called shadow. Then he dropped barriers, submitted himself to the shadow inside him, letting some of it emerge.

  Xiala’s Song was an invitation. An invitation extended to an external power to join with her. Nevertheless, the potential was immense and made him wary, but not afraid. It wasn’t meant for him.

  * * *

  He waited until he could hear the men snoring, some soft-breathed, almost silent, others with great lumbering snorts that suggested exhaustion. But once he was sure they were all asleep, he tied the cloth around his eyes and left his shed.

  It was easy to remember the way back to the captain’s bench, but he took his time, feeling his way in case the crew had moved cargo into his path unknowingly. But the path was clear, and he found her where he had expected to, exultant and smelling of power.

  “Obregi,” she said, greeting him.

  He had been quiet, so he was surprised that she had heard him.

  “I hear everything on my ship,” she said, her voice joyful, teasing. “Especially after I Sing. Is that what you were wondering?”

  “Yes.”

  He heard her shift her weight on the bench. She yawned loudly and made a sound like bones cracking. “What is it you want?”

  “Surely you realize I am Tovan now.”

  She grunted, sounding unconvinced. “Both, I think. I think you’re holding space for both in there.”

  “The way you do for Teek?”

  “Ah, but tonight I am all Teek, I think.” She laughed, delighted.

  Her mood was infectious, and he found himself wanting to smile. He did not, but he considered it. “May I join you?”

  “Please.”

  He felt the bench at his left calf, exactly where he remembered it being from the previous night, and he touched a hand to the wood. It was damp with seawater but worn smooth with use. He sat down gingerly, feeling the moisture seep through his clothing. It was cold, and a bit clammy, but the night itself was mild, a late-summer night that had not yet succumbed to the winter.

  They sat together, he silent and she humming softly, a song that seemed to consist mostly of chorus, something easy and catchy. He hummed a bit, too, following along.

  She cut off abruptly. More silence until she said, “Do you know that song?”

  “No,” he admitted. “I was copying you.”

  “Copy—… was I singing?” He heard her moving again, feet coming down off the rail.

  “I’m sorry. Did I offend?”

  “No,” she said. “Only surprise. It is a Teek lullaby. For you to know it would have been quite strange.” She laughed, and he realized he was beginning to enjoy her laugh. “I didn’t even realize I was humming.”

  “It’s the same song you sang at sunset.”

  “I… yes, after a fashion.”

  “It was beautiful. They talk of the power of Teek Song in the stories but never of their beauty.”

  She made a sound in her throat, mildly disapproving. “What stories?”

  “In Obregi there are stories of all the places on the Meridian continent. The coastal cities of which Cuecola is the greatest, Tova the Holy City, and all the inland river cities like Hokaia and Barach.”

  He could hear her lean forward, the scratch of fabric as she rested her elbows across her knees. “What do they say of the Teek in Obregi?”

  “That they live in a great floating city on the edges of the world that no sailor can find. All who have searched have never been seen again.”

  Her breath was soft, steady, but it hitched nervously when she asked, “And what happens to these sailors who are lost?”

  “Some say they simply sail too far out to sea and cannot find their way back. Others say they find the islands of the Teek, but the lands and their inhabitants are so beautiful they choose to stay and never return to Meridian.”

  “Flatterers,” she murmured.

  “And others say…” He hesitated, suddenly aware the next part of the story was none too kind.

  “Go on,” she urged.

  “Others say any sailor who finds the islands is seduced… and then eaten in a great feast.”

  A pocket of silence when he was sure he had misspoken, but then she huffed an amused laugh. “Eaten. I like that. Keeps the cowards away.” She clapped her hands together and laughed again. “What else do they say?”

  He hesitated, and continued. “The stories tell of a Teek princess.”

  “Oh, well, that was your first mistake,” she said, voice expansive. “The Teek have no princesses. No queens, either.”

  “And no men? The stories said that, too.”

  “And I came from a fish egg,” she said, her sarcasm thick. “What else?”

  He recognized that she hadn’t answered his question, and that a bit of nervousness had come back into her voice. She was hiding something. He could tell by the lift at the ends of her sentences, the way she tapped her heel. He was curious to know her secret, but he was enjoying the conversation too much to push. “That you ride on the backs of manatees.”

  “We do that,” she said solemnly, before bursting into another laugh. She sounded relieved. “But we ask permission first. We call them our siblings. We would never ride our siblings without asking first.”

  He understood she had made a bawdy joke and let the side of his mouth lift in a half-smile. He was rewarded when she said, “Ah, so you do have a sense of humor.”

  “There’s something I want to know,” he asked, ignoring her jibe.

  “What, that the stories don’t tell you?”

  “The stories are too limited to ask the right question.”

  “And what is the question?”

  “How do you navigate at night, with no hint of the horizon? How do you know we are still headed to Tova when everywhere you look, it is the same?”

  She was quiet, but he felt the energy thrumming from her, remnants of the Song she had Sung to the sea. It had something to do with that, he knew. Some part of her magic.

  “It is a Teek secret,” she finally said. “It is why I am a captain despite their superstition.”
He felt her fling her arm out toward the crew behind him. “And despite the fact that I am a woman and young and all the things they cannot tolerate on land.”

  “Yet they revere here on the sea.”

  Her breath caught, like he had surprised her. “Yes.”

  “Will you teach me?” he asked.

  He could feel her eyes on him. Studying. Assessing.

  “You’re blind,” she said, like he was ignoring the obvious. Her voice was apologetic.

  Now he let himself smile, knowing his red teeth flashed in the moonlight. “A woman who knows the waves by the way they move beneath her feet and the wind by the way it kisses her neck wonders how the blind man might learn about the sea?”

  “But these are stars…”

  He leaned forward, pressing a hand against her leg and moving close enough that he felt her startled huff of breath against his cheek. Her magic scented the air. “Did you not hear, Xiala, that I am grandfather crow? You may study the stars, but I am made of the shadow between stars. Tell me what you see, and I will understand it.”

  He felt her heartbeat quicken, her breathing accelerate. From fear or simply because he was so near, he wasn’t sure, but he didn’t move away.

  She cleared her throat. “All right, then,” she said, voice trembling slightly. “Give me your hands.”

  He held both hands out, palms up. He felt her fingers against his right palm, tentative at first. But as she spoke, her touch steadied, became surer.

  “You told me the stories your people tell of mine,” she said, “but let me tell you what we say of ourselves. We are Teek, which means ‘the people,’ and our ways are Teek, and our islands Teek. Do you understand?”

  “That all is the same,” he said, understanding immediately. “There is no difference between yourselves and the land.”

  He could almost feel her smile. “Good.”

  “And the water?”

  “Ah…” Her breath was soft with reverence. “We call the water Al-Teek. Our mother. Constant, life-giving, sustaining.”

  He followed a hunch, thinking of how she had spoken about the stars. “And the sky is your father?”