Currently

by Sarah Mensinga

  Yet the Captain of our rescue ship, the Brectsteer, explains it to me. Apparently the deeplanders used to fight the uplanders in Leistelle, sabotaging and stealing their food during the dry months. Eventually the city agreed to give the deeplanders the smaller mountain peaks.

  “They still bicker and argue,” the Captain says. “So I hate stopping here. There are twice as many port fees too.”

  I look at the little islands as we navigate the sunny, warm harbor, and I wonder what Varasay would be like if deeplanders owned tide-safe land. The Threegod Priests wouldn’t have as much power over us, and there wouldn’t be any forced factory work either.

  At least twelve Leistelle port officers board the ship when we dock because some represent the uplanders while others represent the deeplanders. Melily lost her passbook when the Wanderlea exploded and I lost mine in the storm, so Melily uses wavurl to makes sure the officials aren’t troubled by our lost documents. It takes some careful wavurling to hide my gunnerife too.

  And then it’s as if we’re in Gatreijan all over again. Melily and I spend the morning stealing new clothes and travel cases, and that night Melily convinces an old woman to let us stay in her home.

  The next day, we are about to step into the Sea Spread Travelers Commission to request new passbooks, when I catch hold of Melily’s hand. “Wait.”

  She turns to look at me.

  “We need new false names,” I say. “Douglen and Jeck think we’re dead. Let’s stay dead.”

  Melily nods, and after some delicately-worded commands, we leave the huge, stone building with two passbooks; one for “Delina Cue,” which is almost-but-not-quite the name of a singer Melily’s fond of, and one for “Voreska Mynd.” Voreska was the name in the passbook Sande bought for me in Varasay, and although I wasn’t fond of the name then, I hope it will bring me good luck now.

  We leave for Ellevah the next morning, and before we depart, I’m happy to overhear that a shipping vessel found a saveship of Wanderlea survivors.

  “I hope Sharles is alive,” Melily says, gazing at the tide as we carry our travel cases through the harbor. Stretching a gloved hand out to the foggy horizon, she whispers, “I’ll never forget you, my love.”

  “I thought you were angry with him,” I say.

  She gives me a lofty look. “Anger and love are connected, Nerene. That’s what passion is. Someday you’ll understand.”

  I manage to nod without frowning. And although I’m still very sad about the lost Wanderlea, I’m pleased that Sharles isn’t traveling with us to Ellevah as Melily once hoped.

  And then we’re off on the tide again, sailing starways on a little-but-lovely passenger ship called the Reflection. I couldn’t talk Melily into traveling on a humbler boat, but at least it’s a short trip of only two days.

  When we arrive in Ellevah, I see at once why it’s Cressit’s favorite city and why Sande longed to travel here. It’s small—about half the size of Varasay. The island is also covered with pretty little cottages and has a unique shape. Since it’s the top of an old volcano, it’s roughly a large circle. It has a spring-fed, freshwater central lake, which remains when the tide passes, and along the lake’s shoreline floats a lattice of houses and bobbing, kelpwood walkways.

  The people of Ellevah are kind and friendly too, and almost everyone seems to be artistic and creative. Several languages are spoken, and it’s not just Threegod who’s worshiped here, but other gods too—many of whom I’ve never heard of. Ellevah also seems to be the sort of place where no one asks too many questions, and I have the oddly comforting sense that we aren’t the only people hiding here.

  After selling a handful of jewelry that “somehow” appeared in Melily’s pocket when we left Leistelle, we rent a small, floating cottage on the lake. I love everything about it—the warped and weathered walls, the colorful front door that creaks when I open it, and the flower boxes I can’t wait to fill with herbs. Gren would also love this house. Maam would love it too.

  “So, no more stealing,” I say to Melily as we clean our new home.

  “But that’s what I do best,” she says. “It’s the only thing I’m good at—other than being a spectacular siren.”

  “It’s the only thing you’re good at so far,” I say, scrubbing a stubborn spot on the floor with a wet rag. “But now that you’re no longer traveling the Sea Spread, you have to change your ways. If too many things go missing in Ellevah and then reappear in tradershops, people will get suspicious. And we want to be able to stay here. There are other ways to earn money, honest ways.”

  So after selling the last of Melily’s mysterious pocket jewelry, we open a herb and spice booth at a nearby market. And inspired by both Gren and Parsita, I blend the herbs together in a variety of ways. I buy most of our supplies from deeplanders or tide merchants, and I look forward to visiting the deeplands myself when the tide passes. It seems like Ellevah’s deeplanders and uplanders get along well. While the ocean passes, deeplanders live in various uplanders’ homes.

  Melily finds the process of grinding, measuring, and packaging spice blends tedious—and I find it tedious to listen to her complain and frequently correct her mistakes—so we’re both happier when she decides to organize our money instead, which she’s good at. We soon realize that she’s also good at making sure our landlord never raises our rent and finding us the best spots to set-up our booth in the ridge market. And whenever customers try to talk me into a discount, Melily dashes over and insists they pay full price. She says I’m too softhearted. I say she has to make sure she doesn’t use wavurl to force people to buy things.

  In general, though, we’re happy.

  Melily also gets a bit better at befriending young men. She often chats with guild apprentices she meets at the market, sometimes joining their families for meals or walking with them along the tide’s edge. She never seems to get serious about anyone, though, at least not like she was about Sharles.

  And as for me and love, that part of me seems to have died with Sande.

  Melily often introduces me to apprentices she thinks I might like, to my great embarrassment, but I’m never interested.

  However, well into our second tide of living in the remote, starways mountain city, I’m packing up our market booth one evening when someone says “Nerene” in a way that seems to fill my heart with boiling water.

  I look up and see Cressit walking toward me.

  “It’s really you,” he says. He’s not wearing bright swingshow clothes or even expensive clothes, just a dark green jacket and brown work pants. His also wears his hair much shorter than he used to—cropped to his ears. He looks different, maybe thinner, although he’s still handsome.

  “So you’re here,” he says, looking stunned. “I thought… I thought you died.”

  “Nerene died,” I say in a low voice. “I’m Voreska now.”

  “Well, for that matter, please call me Tedry,” he whispers. “But I’m so relieved. I thought the worst had happened to you. How did you find your way here?”

  “It’s a long story,” I say, and then I realize that the tide left this part of the Sea Spread two months ago. “Why are you in Ellevah and not on your ship?”

  Cressit walks around the cart I’m arranging packets of spice blends in, and standing nearer to me, he says, “Maybe we shouldn’t discuss this here.” And he’s right. A lot of people and other merchants are still milling around the market. “I could stop by early tomorrow morning,” he offers.

  “Or you could come to my cottage,” I say because I want to know why he’s in Ellevah, and I’m too curious to wait until tomorrow.

  Cressit nods. “If that’s all right.”

  “It’s fine,” I say, but I feel an uncertain tingle at the base of my neck because I never invite anyone over—and this is Cressit. Melily also won’t be home. She’s off wandering the docks with a baker’s assistant.

  But I ignore the tingling, and I lead Cressit along the lane that circles Caldera Lake. Since we would both
rather tell our stories in private, we don’t talk much. The sun’s setting, so elongated, shadowy versions of ourselves keep us company. Birds chirp sleepily as well as if too tired to properly sing. And it’s that beautiful time of year when bright orange leaves cover the savor pear trees.

  “Would you like me to push your cart for you?” Cressit offers.

  “No need,” I say quietly, and then I add, “You know, I’m not here alone. That someone you were once searching for? She’s here too.”

  “She is?” he says, looking surprised and happy.

  When we reach my home, I squeeze the cart into the shed next to the cookery door, and I invite Cressit inside. The cottage is mostly one cozy gathery room, but there’s also a cookery hidden in a pocket of cabinets on one end and a small sleeping loft.

  I consider offering Cressit food, but I’m not sure I want to be overly welcoming. I’m not that angry about what happened in Beth anymore, it’s an old wound—only tender when I think about it too much. Mostly, it’s just nice to see a familiar face. But I still feel cautious. Melily can’t use wavurl on me. Cressit can. I haven’t felt that fear in a while.

  “Does Melily live here too?” he asks.

  I nod, sitting in one of the mismatched chairs at our table. “She’ll probably be home soon. We thought Ellevah was where her family might be—at least when we first ran away. But that’s not true, is it?”

  Cressit hesitates before answering, but then says, “Surely you understand why I kept certain secrets. How did you figure it out?”

  So I tell him about what happened on the Wanderlea, and when I’m done, he blows out a long breath.

  “That’s awful.”

  “It was,” I say, and I want to change the subject. I’m always sad when I think about Pavoya. “Are you performing swingshows here?”

  Cressit shakes his head and joins me sitting at the table. “All of that’s over now. The Osperacy’s thought I convinced Melily to run away, and so they hounded and tormented me. Eventually Douglen tried to wavurl me into killing myself. When I resisted, he realized what I was. Then things got worse, he started terrorizing my musician friends and the performers I traveled with, and I just couldn’t protect everyone. After Douglen almost killed my drummer, it was time to… I don’t know… stop fighting. Our group disbanded, I sold my ship, and I gave up performing. It seemed to make sense to hide myself away here. I’ve always loved Ellevah.”

  “I remember,” I say. “And how horrible about Douglen.”

  Cressit runs a finger across a knot in the table. “I’m just sorry I didn’t fight back—I had a few chances, and I didn’t take them. But I don’t regret giving up the swingshows. They weren’t the same anymore. They seemed like a lie after what happened with you.”

  I feel like something heavy rests on my shoulders. “What are you doing now?”

  “Trying to learn how to build chorders,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “I’m terrible at it, though. Playing them and making them are apparently two very different things.” He stands and looks around my little home, examining the herbs in pots, the blanket I’m weaving, the blanket Melily gave up weaving—which lies in a tangled heap—and Melily’s wardrobe. It’s the largest piece of furniture in the cottage, and it’s bursting with clothes. A mound of hats, purses, and shoes also lies to one side of it. Even though Melily insists she only trades for clothing now and doesn’t steal anything, I’m not sure her exchanges are always fair.

  “You have a lovely home,” Cressit says. “I’m sharing a housing unit with four fishermen—it’s much different. What’s this?”

  “Oh nothing.” I leap up and snatch away the stack of paper he’s looking at. “I’m writing a book about herbs because I couldn’t find a good one.”

  “Can I read it?”

  I shake my head. “It’s not at all finished—I’m still learning how to write properly.”

  “I could help,” Cressit offers. “I don’t know much about herbs, but I can write fairly well.”

  I look down at the paper piled in my arms. “Melily said she’d look it over.” But that was several months ago, and she still hasn’t started.

  He holds out his hands. “Can I see what you already have?”

  So we spend the next hour spreading my notes across the floor, and I also show him my drawings of silvany weed, moss sage, and whorl chives.

  “These are wonderful,” he says

  “I’m focusing on common herbs,” I tell him, hovering self-consciously at his shoulder. “The book would be better if I knew more about the rare plants that grow around other cities.”

  “Well, if your book sells well, maybe you can travel the Sea Spread to study,” Cressit says. “In the meantime, you make spice blends, don’t you? I bet people would love it if you included recipes for those.”

  “That’s a great idea,” I say, feeling a rush of warmth towards him. I didn’t realize how nice it felt to have someone take an interest in my work. Melily usually just complains about how annoying it is that I’m always writing when she wants my attention.

  Melily finds us two hours later; huddled over pages that I’ve spread across floor, drinking tea, and discussing ideas for a book title. I’ve had trouble coming up with a good one.

  “Cressit!?” she exclaims.

  He looks up uncertainly.

  I’m not sure how she’ll react to him being in Ellevah, but all she does is rush over and hug him. I feel even more warmly towards him when as she does this, he sweeps my notes out of the way of her boots, protecting them.

  Then we all tell our stories a second time, Cressit his and Melily ours—and she adds way too many personal details about her romance with Sharles. Cressit asks if she would like to find her family in the tide, and when she says no, he seems relieved. After he finally bids us goodnight, Melily wraps an arm around me and says, “So he’s clearly in love with you.”

  “What? No.” I swallow. “Besides, Cressit wronged me—badly.”

  “But that was an accident, wasn’t it? And it happened a long time ago, and he just spent hours reading your boring herb book. Who else would do that?”

  I feel myself flush, and I’m not sure I like it. “Let’s get ready for bed.”

  And so our life changes again. Now it’s the three of us at the market booth. I’m usually mixing and preparing spice blends, while Cressit measures out equal portions to package in glass bottles and paper packets. Melily keeps a record of our sales, calls people over to our booth, and chats with anyone she finds interesting. And if we’re not too busy, Cressit plays music on an old drybark chorder while I sketch herbs, and that often interests passersby too.

  In the evenings Cressit and I work on my herb and spice book, and when Melily’s around, we play games. I’ve gotten really good at Slide ’n’ Pass—matching amphib cards faster than anyone else. Melily often grumbles that I’m surely cheating, and even Cressit looks at me sideways sometimes.

  Before we know it, it’s summer and time to gather plants in the deeplands, and this tide, I’m hoping to search for mushrooms too. Melily decides to stay up in Ellevah City to keep our market booth open, though. “I went to the deeplands last tide, and there is just too much mud down there. It gets on everything and in everything and ruins everything.”

  And so it’s just Cressit who travels with me.

  I’m nervous about that at first, and it’s not that I don’t trust Cressit by now—I do. It’s more that I don’t trust myself. My feelings for him always seem like they're swinging on a pendulum that I can’t control, shifting from old pain to fondness, then over to happiness, but then back to caution. Our first meeting in Beth seems so far away now, but it’s still there, a hidden hurt inside me.

  At the tree-covered foot of Mount Ellevah, Cressit and I pass through two deepland villages. There we buy many of the herbs we need and arrange to pick them up on our return. We also buy several snappers and carry them further into the kelp forest—which is dryer, cooler, and rockier than the jungle
s surrounding Varasay. We spend a sunpeak foraging, and there are many fascinating local plants to gather; we pluck the threads of the intensely flavored invol flower and dig up grimewort roots that have to be soaked and mashed as soon as they're picked.

  Thankfully there aren’t too many vicious amphibs near Ellevah, so all we have to worry about are roaming fringed bears and the rare pack of velvet wolves. I’m not too concerned about them, though, because I have my snappers. I try to teach Cressit how to use the little darts too, but he doesn’t make much progress. He can shoot them really far, but his aim is awful.

  “There’s some secret to this that you’re just not telling me, isn’t there?” he says, after losing yet another dart in the dense, leafy surroundings.

  “There’s no secret,” I say with a grin. “You just have to start practicing when you’re five tides old.”

  Cressit raises his eyebrows. “So your village had children running around with weapons? That seems like a bad idea.”

  “They didn’t have poisoned darts,” I laugh. “At least not until they were ten.”

  “Ten,” Cressit says, still looking incredulous. “Well, that’s much safer.”

  He’s a much better companion than Melily was last tide. He works hard and stays cheerful, even when it rains on us for two days. He also assembles a clever, reed platform to put our tent on, which helps us stay dry.

  And one evening, while we’re sitting around the cookfire, my pendulum-like feelings stop swinging around and settle on affection—and quite a lot of it. I watch Cressit for a while as he trims the flat-topped, purple-brown mushrooms we collected that day and hums one of his old songs. Then I take the trimming knife out of his hand, and when he looks up at me surprised, I kiss him.

  It’s like he’s been waiting for me to do that for ages because he kisses back enthusiastically, pulling me onto his lap. And it’s not long before we’re doing more than kissing as the cookfire crackles and sparks beside us.