First Fall: The Canoe Thief

by Zaide Bishop

  He let Charlie tie his wrists together.

  “Come on.” Charlie urged him toward the side of the pool, helping him out of the water while Whiskey kept his spear pointed at him.

  “It would really make my day if you tried to run, little sister,” he said with a white-toothed grin.

  “Go jump in a crocodile nest,” Love spat back.

  Whiskey jabbed the spear inches from Love’s face, and he flinched.

  “Easy,” Charlie chided. “Put that thing away. If she falls back in the pool and drowns because her arms are tied, Sugar will be all kinds of cross.”

  Sugar was the Elikai leader and he was going to be all kinds of cross anyway, though mostly with Love. Since the Varekai had realized they could catch the Elikai and trade them back for tools and weapons, they had been relentless. Now Sugar had one big rule: Don’t get caught. This was the third time Love had failed to follow that simple directive.

  The Varekai had never actually hurt him, but it was putting the truce between the tribes on shaky ground. And it was no good Love staying put in the village, because the more often the Varekai caught him, the more food the tribe needed to make up for what was lost in trade.

  “Can you at least gather the tubers I dropped?” Love said sadly. “I was going to roast them.”

  “They’ll still be here tomorrow.” Charlie sounded amused. “We can be here tomorrow too, if you want to do this again.”

  “Forgive me if I have better things to do,” he muttered.

  Charlie hauled himself out of the water, and the three of them set off down a narrow game trail between the densely packed trees. They hadn’t gotten very far when Tango ghosted out to greet them, probably tasked with keeping watch for other Elikai.

  “No problems?” he asked softly. Tango was tall, with dark, short hair and narrow hips that almost made him look more Elikai than Varekai. Deep scars covered his face, chest and arms.

  Love wasn’t sure what had left the horrible wounds. A jaguar, a dog, perhaps even a crocodile. At some point, a predator had almost got the better of Tango, and now the gaze of others seemed to cause him physical discomfort.

  “None.” Charlie was still cheerful. “And it’s nice and early. We should be able to hand her over and be home before dark.”

  Love resented their words. She. Her. Sister. Every one of them was jarring and wrong. A niggling itch that Love couldn’t reach to scratch.

  The next few steps of the game were becoming familiar, almost habitual. Someone, usually Bravo, because he was the youngest and fastest of the Varekai, would shoot a blunt-tipped arrow into the Elikai village with a message informing them of Love’s capture and what would be required to buy him back.

  Charlie and Whiskey would take him to the Vanishing Beaches, the broad, plant-free sandbank that formed between two of the islands during low tide, and they would wait at the edge of the trees for Sugar and several Elikai brothers. The Elikai would come armed yet hand over whatever the Varekai bullied them out of without resistance.

  It had been like this for a month now, ever since Tare, an Elikai brother, had stolen some Varekai canoes and been captured. The Varekai had traded him for smoked pigs, and since then, they’d seen no reason to stop.

  Sugar might not have tolerated it if Charlie hadn’t given himself to Sugar as a prisoner to stop a war between the tribes. That sacrifice seemed to have weakened Sugar’s resolve when it came to the Varekai. Or maybe he simply saw how easy it would be to go from harmless trading back to killing.

  There were not enough Elikai or Varekai left for the war to continue. Charlie knew that as well as Sugar. Now, as always, the Varekai had the upper hand. And, as always, it was because Love was so useless.

  They hiked through the jungle. Whiskey kept his spear on Love, despite the fact he could do little more than stumble along with his hands tied. When they settled in the shade, looking over the wide sandbank, Charlie let Love drink from his plastic water bottle. Tango had vanished again, though he was not gone long.

  He settled beside his brothers. “Bravo will be there soon. They might have already guessed we have her and be on their way.”

  Love hoped not. He’d just curl up and die if his brothers had started automatically sending out rescue parties.

  “What are we asking for?” Whiskey had put down his spear and was sketching in the sand. In his sketches two dogs formed, killing a boar decorated with spears.

  “Two horn knives and that bag Sugar has, with the straps,” Charlie replied.

  Love’s heart sank. Sugar had only made his backpack two weeks ago. He’d sewn it with doggut and kid hides, and he was just about as proud as a rooster of it. He would never forgive Love for this.

  In a show of defiance, he stayed sullen and silent for as long as he could, though he broke down about ten minutes later, when Charlie offered to untie his hands so he could play knuckles with them. That they weren’t even concerned enough to keep him bound just added insult to injury.

  He didn’t trust the Varekai. He was still very much afraid of them. But this waiting for rescue was becoming too familiar. And terrifyingly boring.

  It took about two hours for the Elikai canoes to slide into view on the other side of the sandbank. Charlie and his brothers stood, and Love was dragged to his feet, then pushed forward across the sand.

  Even from a distance he could see how deeply unimpressed his brothers were. It was going to be a long day.

  * * *

  Whiskey watched the Elikai approach.

  There were just three today: Sugar, their leader, with her lighter-than-average frame and deeply pensive green eyes; the tall, fair-haired Zebra, whose primary claim to fame appeared to be the courage to poke just about anything with a stick; and the dark-haired, gray-eyed Fox.

  Of the three, Fox was the most dangerous. She was the one who set traps for animals—remarkable, deadly traps—and Whiskey had seen her think on her feet, baiting boars into a fatal misstep or startling quick-footed goats in just the right way so they fell to their death without her ever wasting an arrow.

  Whiskey saw the slide of their muscles under oiled skin, every carefully placed foot, every twitch of their hands. They weren’t as patient as crocodiles or snakes. They weren’t as impulsive as wild dogs or sharks. Sometimes Whiskey thought she was the only Varekai who saw the Elikai as predators and not just the frightened, overwhelmed creatures that had escaped with them from the dead husk of Eden.

  They had been children then, Elikai and Varekai alike. Now they had grown, and the Elikai just kept getting bigger. Certainly the Varekai were more vicious, more cunning, like the smallest, most savage bitch controlling the pack. She often wondered why the Elikai didn’t realize they were the superior force. With the right attitude they could have controlled the islands, pushed the Varekai back to the mainland.

  The Elikai fear from the time before, when the Varekai had birthed the world, was obsolete.

  When there had been war between the tribes, real war, Whiskey had killed Elikai. Once, she had been too slow, misstepped, and an Elikai had gotten her hands on her. She’d choked Whiskey, holding her down, crushing the life out of her with her bare hands. Whiskey had killed her with a thin stick, which somehow hadn’t snapped when she had jammed it into her neck. It had been the desperate, final act of a Varekai moments from death.

  She had never forgotten just how powerful they were. How it had felt to die, crushed by Elikai hands.

  “You’re not having it, Charlie,” Sugar said, by way of greeting. She had the backpack with her, which made Whiskey think that if properly pressured, she would give it up after all. She would just have to make Love squeal a little. A few drops of blood, at the most.

  “Then I guess I’ll be keeping this,” Charlie said, putting a cheerful hand on Love’s shoulder.

  “Not this one,”
Sugar insisted. “I’ll make you one of your own, but I will not give you this one. It is mine. It wouldn’t fit you anyway. The strap across the chest wouldn’t accommodate your, uh, things.”

  “These things?” Charlie arched an eyebrow and cupped her breasts in her hands. They were too substantial to fit well, and swelled out around her fingers.

  “Those things,” Sugar agreed, refusing to look at them. “But I have to measure you.”

  “It’s a trap,” Whiskey warned her sister.

  Sugar gave her a flat look. “Of course. When I know his measurements, my plans to overthrow all of Varekai society will be almost complete.”

  Whiskey narrowed her eyes. “I mean that when you get close enough, you will grab her.”

  “And do what with him? You’re wasting our time, Whiskey. You think everything is a trap because everything you do is.”

  Charlie shoved Love toward Whiskey, and she caught hold of her, digging her nails into her forearm just enough to feel her squirm.

  “Ouch,” Love protested with wide eyes, but Whiskey didn’t loosen her grip. Tango shifted her spear in her hands, ready in case there was a fight.

  Sugar glared at Whiskey, and she stared right back, but Charlie stepped forward, as unafraid as she ever was in Elikai presence. Overconfident, in Whiskey’s opinion.

  “Go on then.”

  Sugar frowned and dug around in her backpack, pulling out a length of rope. She used it to measure around Charlie’s bust. She was looking at the sky as she did it, her cheeks turning red. When she had it in place, she swiped a streak of ink off Charlie’s arm with her fingertip, using it to mark the length on the rope.

  Charlie grinned, showing all her teeth. “Want to measure anything else?”

  Sugar’s cheeks darkened further, but she looked unimpressed. “Are you sure you don’t need a pack for the front, to keep them out of your way?”

  “Maybe you could run along behind me, holding them.”

  Sugar made a sound of annoyance and backed away from her. “The last thing in the entire archipelago that I want is to hold your breasts.”

  “You will give me a backpack, Sugar,” Charlie warned her.

  She nodded. “I will. Probably not before pissing in it.”

  Charlie remained unfazed. “You better have something else I want.”

  “I brought the bone knives and this.” She offered both knives to Charlie, hilt first, then removed a squat clay jar sealed with waxed lizard skin.

  Charlie took it and sniffed the seal. She brightened. “Honey!”

  “Don’t think you can ask for it all the time,” Sugar said darkly. “There is not that much to go around.”

  “India thinks she may have found some sugarcane anyway. But if you’re taking requests, I wouldn’t say no to some goat next time.”

  “There better not be a next time,” Sugar muttered.

  Charlie smirked. “You’d miss me.”

  “What’s the matter?” Fox demanded, stepping up to face Charlie, fists balled. “Did those balls of fat on your chests get so big you can’t hunt anymore, Varekai?”

  Whiskey let Love go, and the Elikai scrambled past Fox to hide behind Sugar.

  “No doubt you pick off the slowest, weakest goat when you’re chasing the herd.” Whiskey stepped forward, ready to defend Charlie. “We do the same when choosing prey. And rounding up Elikai is easier than spearing nesting turtles.”

  Fox turned her anger on Whiskey, the grip on her spear tightening. “So it’s true, Varekai can’t handle anything their own size. Just the slow and weak.”

  “Hey!” Love protested, but they both ignored her.

  “I can take on anything in the archipelago.” Whiskey’s skin was tingling with adrenaline. “You or any other Elikai. You’re too slow and too stupid to be dangerous.”

  Even as she said it, the ghost of an ache began in her throat, remembering those terrifying moments she had been slipping away into death. Bluffing was the better part of victory, though Fox didn’t look all that intimidated by her now.

  “Shall we test that?” The Elikai glided forward in one smooth, swift motion, but Zebra pulled her back. Whiskey hadn’t even noticed her getting into position.

  “Stop it.” Sugar looked between them. “Both of you.”

  Fox didn’t fight her sister’s grasp, but she met Whiskey’s gaze with open hostility.

  “One day we won’t have our brothers here to keep us apart, Varekai. I hope you’re ready for that.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “I brought a spear, didn’t I?”

  “We’re going.” Sugar pushed Fox and Love back toward the canoes.

  Charlie waited until they were out of earshot, then turned on Whiskey.

  “You know we can’t blackmail them if they’re dead, right?”

  Chapter Two

  Only two of the eggs had hatched—the two that India had marked with ink, to show they were from other hens. The two little brown chicks pip-pipped around the tiny bamboo cage with their surrogate mother, while beside them the unbroken eggs of their sisters were barren and lifeless. India opened the cage door, wincing as the little hen pecked her twice on the hand, and retrieved the eggs. She left the cage door open, so the hen could take her two new chicks out to scratch.

  She was the best layer they had. Every season she would grow broody. Every season she would hatch a whole clutch, as many eggs as would fit under her. Not all of them survived. It was hard to keep tiny chicks alive in a forest full of snakes, seabirds, feral cats and roaming dogs. The odds for the two new little brown chicks were not great, and Charlie would be annoyed with her for wasting the eggs and think the experiment had failed.

  She would be incorrect. There were two types of chicken. The Varekai had been taught that in Eden. The smaller, less colorful hens laid eggs which could be eaten, or left to grow into new chicks. The larger roosters, with their bright wattles and excessive plumage, were for eating. The Varekai had also been taught that while roosters were for eating, the largest and strongest of the roosters must be kept, so that she could protect her smaller hen sisters. In return, she would chase them and mount them and sometimes feed them, and it was important to chickens that they do these things. It was vital, the teachers had said, that there always be at least one rooster.

  The Varekai had accepted this. They had accepted the same story with their hunting dogs. Bitches whelped puppies, and dogs were best for hunting. Without both, the dogs could not survive. Though India had started to wonder if it were really true, because the strongest, meanest, fiercest dog they had was not a dog at all, but a bitch.

  It had been the dogs, not the chickens, that had given her the idea. Dogs fought and mounted one another all the time. India had paid little attention to their awkward, violent thrusting until she had been stranded with the Elikai, Tare.

  The Elikai, with their breastless chests and ugly little wattle-comblike appendage between their legs, seemed as alien to Varekai as dogs were to monkeys. However, alone and stranded, India and Tare had bonded. And in the back of a car on the mainland, they had coupled. They had been the first Elikai and Varekai to attempt such a thing, and if her sisters found out, they would be appalled. Disgusted. To them it was anathema. But it hadn’t felt wrong. If anything, it had been easier than coupling with her Varekai sisters. More natural somehow.

  Since she had come home, India had started paying more attention to the dogs. To the slick, wet thing that passed between them; something like the thing Tare had called her cock.

  The realization had been painful. What if babies didn’t come from Eden? What if animals were like plants and needed a stamen and pistil to fruit? What if roosters were the pistil and hens were the stamen, and the eggs they created the fruit of their bodies?

  But animals couldn’t be like plants. It was
absurd. When the little hen had gone broody, making the cage and locking her inside had seemed both crazy and logical. If she could be kept away from her rooster sisters, maybe she would not breed. The eggs had still come, though, and India had thought she was wrong. She’d been relieved at first. But then she had taken eggs from other hens, marked them with ink and waited to see. Just to be sure.

  She looked down at the unhatched eggs. The ones the little hen had laid in her cage, away from the roosters. One by one, she cracked them in a bowl. The smell was putrid and she gagged, holding her painted forearm over her mouth and nose. They were rotten. More than that, there were no half-developed chicks inside. No seed of blood that promised life. The eggs were barren.

  Roosters were pistils. Hens were stamen. Eggs were fruits. Animals were just like plants.

  India thought about this for a long moment, and then she vomited. From shock or the smell, she didn’t know.

  Whiskey stopped, crouching down beside her, pulling a face at the smell.

  “Are you okay?”

  “No.” India felt faint.

  Whiskey whistled, summoning a huge tan dog to clean up the eggs and vomit, then pulled India to her feet. Whiskey was much stronger than India. India had always been unusually small, and Whiskey was the tribe’s best hunter. Not the tallest or even the strongest, but still the deadliest. She half dragged India to a shaded rock and plopped her down, fetching a plastic bottle of water.

  “Wash your mouth.”

  India did.

  “Your experiment failed.” Whiskey clicked her tongue.

  “Did it?”

  “You wasted all those eggs.”

  India frowned at the ground. “It didn’t fail. Knowledge gained is more important than food. I could have killed every chicken on the island and it would still be worth what I know now.”

  “I find that hard to believe.” Whiskey wasn’t being smug; her brow was furrowed with worry. “You’ve been different since the mainland. Something bad happened there.”

  “A great many bad things happened on the mainland. You were there.”