Currently

by Sarah Mensinga

  The same priestess soon hurries me out of the basin and hands me a towel. Once I’m dry, she has me dress in a yellow robe that looks a lot like hers—although hers is hooded. Then she pulls my hair into a tight, straight Varasay braid.

  After that I’m approached by a different priestess who holds a book and mechanical uppy pen. “I need your name and village.”

  “Nerene Keel,” I say. “I’m from Saltpool.”

  She flips pages. “Ah… here you are… Nerene Keel Olin marrying Carnos Kaelnos from Riversborn.” She makes a notation. “And you know about the procedure, yes? Once you’ve given birth to two children, you must report to Varasay City, even if the tide is out.”

  I nod again, thinking about Bessel. I’ve heard the procedure is painful, and every now and then, some poor woman gets an infection afterward and doesn’t recover.

  I also hate that the uppies constantly remind us about it as if we’ll forget. They even hang posters in the barracks. The one I hate most shows a pretty woman holding two babies looking pleased as Gray Straps drag an ugly woman with three babies from the city.

  When all of us deeplander women are clean and dressed, one of the priestesses leads us into the main worship hall. It’s an impressive, intimidating space. The ceiling is a busy combination of stone arches and orange and yellow panes of glass, and we’re surrounded by rows of identical benches that could surely seat several hundred worshipers. Only a few uppies are here now though, and they look at us impatiently as if our weddings are performances that should entertain them—but aren’t. Fire burns bright in four hearths too, and somewhere I can’t see, a musician plays a somber, sluggish melody on chimer bells.

  I wonder what Sande would think of all this. He’s always hated that the uplanders flaunt their wealth when we deeplanders have so little. I suppose it bothers me too, although I know things could be much worse. I don’t remember my life with Maam that clearly anymore, but I still have some unhappy memories: the criminal bands hurting her, how cold we’d be when it snowed, how hungry we’d get—and worse, how thirsty. I remember one winter, Maam was unconscious for a whole day, and I thought she’d died. Then there was the winter when a velvet wolf stalked us, and we could never sleep at the same time.

  Still thinking about Maam, I watch our grooms gather on the far side of the worship hall. They stand beneath a glittering, embroidered banner that depicts the immortals of Threegod: Laeros, Shale, and K’Gar. The banner above us women shows the defeated Water Goddess. I think she’s supposed to be gravely injured, but to me she looks as if she’s staring furiously over at Threegods, ready to rally and fight again.

  Carnos catches my eye and nods.

  I make myself smile in return, pulling my lips across my teeth. It’s not fair to compare my feelings for him to my feelings for Sande. Carnos and I hardly know each other—our pairing only happened because Gren and Itanda’s mother are childhood friends. As Carnos and I experience life together, I’m sure we’ll develop some sort of loving bond. Or at the very least, I’ll probably never have to talk him out of a reckless plan. He seems to have an abundance of good sense.

  “All rise for the High Priest of Laeros!” a deep voice calls, and as the handful of uppies in the hall stand, an elderly man appears on a raised dais. He must be at least ten years older than Gren Tya, and he looks as if he’s about to collapse beneath the weight of his ornate, many-layered robes. Like everything else in the temple, his garments are cream, gleaming gold, and copper, and surely he’s meant to look as if he’s blazing with sunlight. Instead I find myself thinking of the annoying orange jellycrabs that cling to our fishing nets, the ones that smear slime all over my fingers when I try to pick them off.

  “Blessed are these deeplanders,” the priest says, his words reverberating through the hall, surprisingly loud and strong. “May the favor of Laeros, K’Gar, and Shale be upon them.”

  The slippers the priestesses gave us to wear are so thin I feel like I’m standing barefoot. Pain shoots up through my tired ankles.

  Hopefully this ceremony won’t take long.

  But despite his frail appearance, the High Priest has plenty of strength to talk about the new temple: how it’s taller than all the other mountain city’s temples, how it symbolizes Varasay’s devotion to Threegod, and how on clear days, one can see Beth, the neighboring mountain city, from its highest tower.

  I dig a finger into the collar of my robes, trying to loosen them.

  The High Priest then drones on about marriage and how having our weddings in the city represents the ongoing friendship between uplanders and deeplanders.

  My collar really is far too tight, and why did they make us stand so close to a hearth? Is no one else uncomfortable? I look around at the other brides, but they all seem fine. They’re either listening politely to the High Priest or trading smiles and winks with their betrothed.

  Fanning my face with both hands, I’m vaguely aware of the High Priest telling the complicated story of how Laeros became a god and how he joined forces with K’Gar and Shale to defeat the Water Goddess when she tried to flood the world.

  Sande probably thinks I’m already married. He and his parents have surely been assigned a barracks unit by now and are unpacking. I imagine Trennet and Sande dragging parcels up from the wagon while Bessel arranges cookware in the tiny alcove behind the door. Usually Gren Tya and I would be doing the same thing, and although the Rinians promised to help her until Carnos and I reach the barracks, I hope they aren’t too busy with their own belongings.

  This tide, though, I won’t share Gren’s barracks unit. I’ll share one with Carnos, and in a short while, I’ll be expected to do something there I don’t really want to do.

  I can’t imagine it will be anything like it was with Sande, lying in the soft seagrass beneath the dead boat. Instead I find myself thinking of the wild dogs that sometimes mate with our village mutts on the dust plains. It’s a horrible, stomach-turning thought, and once I think it, I can’t push it out of my mind.

  Even Gren was trying to give me advice last night. “It might not be pleasant at first. Just allow him to be persistent.”

  Persistent. My robes feel heavier and hotter than they were a moment ago.

  I look at Carnos. He’s watching the High Priest enraptured. His robes are too short, and the hem hangs a hands-width above the floor. The priests probably weren’t able to find slippers to fit him either, for he’s barefoot.

  I clutch my middle, close my eyes, and lower my head. All of this will be over soon—even the part in our small barracks room on the thin cot.

  “Nerene Keel Olin and Carnos Kaelnos!” a priest calls.

  I look up, and it’s as if I’ve been in a dark hut for hours rather than simply shutting my eyes for a moment. Gray spots blur the hall, and I’m still blinking my vision clear when a nearby priestess directs me to the dais.

  At least Carnos and I will be married first, and I don’t have to wait any longer. I breathe deeply in and out, and I feel like I’m leaving Sande’s necklace on the windowsill of Gren’s hut all over again. I’m sure that once I marry Carnos, I’ll have second thoughts. But that’s exactly why I have to do this. It can’t be undone, and then I’ll be safely married, and Sande and I will be out of each others’ reach forever.

  There’s no swelling tide below me and no heavy wagon to push, but somehow climbing these dozen marble steps seems far harder than hiking up the mountain road. Carnos walks slowly beside me, matching my pace.

  When we reach the High Priest, he takes us both by the hand. Up close he looks even older, with loose skin like fur oyster flesh and mucus in his eyes. “In the warmth and clarity of Laeros Light God,” he booms, his breath smelling of springwine and the white stuff that grows on underoots when they’re stored for too long.

  I look over at Carnos, at his nose that looks like it has been broken at least once, at the freckles that seem so strangely arranged on just his chin, and at his large mouth that seems to have no teeth until he sm
iles very wide. Soon that face will press against mine, kissing me and more.

  “… In admiration of the perseverance of K’Gar Storm God…” the High Priest continues.

  I wonder if Sande will leave Varasay on his own, stow away on a ship, and explore the Sea Spread. If he does, he will probably never return. I’ll never see him again.

  “… And in the protection of Shale Stone God’s eternal strength…”

  If only another Saltpool family took pity on me ten tides ago. If only Gren could have adopted me. My vision blackens as if I’ve shut my eyes again. I imagine running down the mountain road, diving into the tide, and swimming through the cold shadows until I find my necklace.

  “Do you pledge to be loyal to each other, second only to your devotion to Threegod?”

  “I do,” Carnos rumbles, his eyes on mine.

  And then it’s my turn to speak. Yet when I open my mouth, no words come out.

  Instead my breakfast of pigeon eggs and greenberries surges up, splashing across the High Priest’s robes and spattering the brand new marble dais.

  “Looks like this is it, barracks building ten, Unit 34-C.” The Gray Strap gestures to a steel door. Bare metal shows beneath chipped green paint, which shows beneath chipped red paint.

  “Thank you,” I say, still feeling queasy. And it’s not just that I vomited an hour ago, I’m not married. I should be married. I planned on being married.

  The Gray Strap grunts in reply, crumples a paper that surely had my barracks unit number written on it, and trudges off down the dark corridor.

  Gren is probably sleeping, resting from the climb, so I don’t knock. Instead I ease the door open, hoping the hinges won’t groan.

  But the handle is jerked out of my fingers, and the door opens from the inside. I look up to find Sande’s mother, Bessel, staring at me, cooking knife and partially-peeled shell beet in her hand.

  “What are you doing here?” she demands, and oh no, the Gray Strap who assigned me to this unit must have simply looked up my family in the city records.

  Behind Bessel, Trennet and Sande also look at me in surprise. Trennet seems to be busy arranging reed mats on an upper bunk, and Sande’s sitting cross-legged on a lower bunk surrounded by carving tools. I think he’s sorting them.

  “Someone made a mistake,” I say, trying to avoid Sande’s gaze. I’ve already spent too much time thinking about him today.

  Their barracks unit is identical to the one Gren and I lived in last winter, with a tiny window, two bunk beds, and a narrow strip of shelving supposedly large enough to hold an entire family’s belongings. I see the shelves here are already stuffed with fernflax thread for Bessel’s weaving and bushels of food, such as underoot and savorpears. More food, tools, and clothes are crammed beneath the cots, behind the door, and piled on the empty fourth bunk.

  “I’m so sorry,” I stammer. “I told them I always stay with Gren. Do you know where her unit is?”

  Bessel squints. “Why would you stay with Gren? Why wouldn’t you stay with your husband?”

  I look past her to Sande. His eyes are also full of questions.

  “I didn’t get married,” I admit.

  “Why not?” Bessel presses, her voice hardening, sharpening.

  “I was sick,” I tell her.

  Sande’s mouth curls up at the corners as he moves two mallets into a kelpwood chest.

  “Why would it matter if you were feeling sick?” Bessel’s face reddens.

  “No, I wasn’t feeling sick,” I say. “I was sick—all over the High Priest of Laeros.”

  Bessel gasps.

  Sande chuckles.

  And I grimace. “Does anyone know where Gren Tya’s unit is?”

  Sande’s eyebrows fly up as if suddenly realizing something, and he peers out from where he sits on the lower cot. “You can’t stay with her.”

  “What? Why not?” I ask.

  He smiles the sort of bright smile I rarely see him use in Varasay. It’s the sort of smile he wears while wading on the beach, hiking around Coral Lake, or I suppose those few, daring times with me near the dead boat. “Since you got married—or were supposed to—the Gray Straps made Gren share a barracks unit with the Rinians.” He looks at his parents. “I guess Nerene will have to stay here.” His glittering eyes then return to me. “How disappointing.”

  Bessel rounds on Trennet. “No, this can’t happen. I won’t let this happen. I will not feed this girl or have her underfoot for three months.”

  “Ack, Bess, we’ll figure it out.” Trennet looks at me softly. “Nerene, I’d love to have you stay with us, but perhaps another family would be… a better fit.”

  Bessel nods so curtly her frizzy knot of hair bobs. “Yes, you’ve got some experience caring for old people, and there are certainly other elderly folk in the barracks. Go on, go to the arch house and sort it out.”

  “I’ll come with you.” Sande springs up from the cot.

  Bessel doesn’t miss much though. “Sande, I need you here.”

  “And I’ll be fine on my own,” I say, edging out the door.

  “We’ll be back before you know it.” Sande grabs my hand and pulls me down the corridor before his mother can argue more. “So what really happened?” he asks as soon as we’re in the stairwell. The Olin’s unit is on the top of their barracks building, three floors up. Bessel must hate that.

  “It happened just like I said, I felt hot—I was probably tired from the climb. And then by the time I’d cleaned up, the ceremony was over. A different priest finished the rest of the weddings.”

  Sande stops halfway down a flight of stairs. “So now will you admit it?” he asks quietly, even though there’s no one around. “You don’t want to marry Carnos.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Sande raises a single eyebrow. “Your stomach doesn’t seem to want to.”

  I push past him and keep walking down the stairs. “I didn’t mean to be sick, and besides, nothing’s changed. The priests say Carnos and I don’t need to wait for the next tide. We’ll just have to pay for our wedding, and as long as we don’t mind getting married in a small temple—which is fine by me—it’ll only cost fifteen paper shells. I’m sure Carnos and I can raise the money at the barracks market.”

  Sande keeps grinning at me. “All right, while you save money to marry someone who makes you sick, how ’bout I save money to buy us passbooks? I already have a few paper shells from working at the motorliner track house.”

  “Don’t, please,” I tell him because I don’t want to know it’s possible to run away. It’s hard enough to make this decision.

  Sande’s smile vanishes. “Nerene, I won’t stay here if you marry Carnos. I’m leaving no matter what.”

  I was afraid of that. “I’m just trying to protect you from… well, you can be so rash…”

  Sande frowns. “Are you saying you’re trying to protect me from myself?”

  And no, that’s not it, but I can’t say anything else because a group of unfamiliar deeplanders are now clunking up the stairs with baskets of clothing and a crying toddling. People will still be arriving late into the night, especially from the villages that are further away from the mountain.

  We can’t really talk freely outside either, the steep lanes between the barracks buildings are full of deeplanders either unloading wagons or disassembling them for storage. We walk quietly, and I suppose I’m fine with that. I am a little worried about what Sande might do to get his way, but at the moment, I just want to know where I’m sleeping tonight. Hopefully Gren and I can be assigned an empty unit. I know she’ll be disappointed that I haven’t married Carnos yet, but I think she’ll be relieved too. I’m sure she’d rather live with me than crowded in with the Rinians.

  Sande walks in a bouncy, cheerful manner, and I try to ignore him as we make our way up the steep roads, through the barracks market, and over to the arch house. A tall fence runs around all the barracks buildings, and the arch house is the only way through it. The gate t
here has never been locked—at least not that I can remember—and I think its purpose isn’t really to keep us deeplanders trapped but to remind the rest of Varasay that we aren’t really like them.

  There are five Gray Straps on duty, and they’re all busy. Two are in the left wing of the arch house, sorting out arguments between new arrivals. Not all deeplanders get along, and there are several families who hate sharing the same barracks building. The three other Gray Straps are assembling a wooden structure outside. I assume it’s the platform for the Chancellor’s annual tidewater speech, which will probably happen tomorrow morning. Sande and I wait for several moments, and then I catch the attention of a female Gray Strap. Even though she has two gunnerifes on her hips—the frightening, mechanical weapon of the city—she has a dainty look to her that I hope means she’ll be understanding.

  “Excuse me,” I say, stepping into the arch house. “I’m in the wrong barracks unit. I always stay with a Saltpool elder named Gren Tya. I help her cook and clean and run her market booth. I was supposed to get married this tide, but I didn’t, so now I’m assigned to the wrong unit.”

  The Gray Strap woman glances out the window of the arch house.

  It seems like I’m losing her attention, so I speak faster. “Could you please put me in a unit with Gren Tya? My name is Nerene Keel.”

  Now the Gray Strap is staring at me without much of an expression. I think I overcomplicated my explanation, so I take a deep breath to start again. But before I speak, she says, “Do you have a unit assignment?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who are you staying with?”

  “Her adopted family,” Sande offers politely, and I want to step on his foot.

  “Then I don’t see a problem.” There is a clatter outside. It sounds like the platform has collapsed. The woman’s eyes flick over to the window again, and her eyebrows lower.

  “I always stay with Gren,” I say, feeling like I’m floundering. It would be unthinkable to stay with the Olins. Bessel hates me, and Sande doesn’t hate me enough. “Gren needs my help,” I add. “She depends on it.”