First Fall: The Canoe Thief

by Zaide Bishop

  Since India had been with Tare, she had only been with another sister once: Charlie. But it had been unfulfilling, and now India found her sisters physically unappealing. She only wanted Tare, and Tare was always so eager to have her, she couldn’t imagine her wanting anyone else either.

  It might have been confusing and undefined, but India did have an Elikai. And Tare would protect her from anything. She’d been willing to throw her own life away for India, even before they had made love.

  “Maybe I will seduce an Elikai of my own,” Whiskey said.

  India snorted, amused. “Because you’re so popular with the Elikai. They’re falling over themselves to be your friend.”

  Whiskey clenched her teeth, grinding them back and forth. For a moment, India genuinely thought Whiskey would strike her, but she only huffed.

  “We’ll see, India. You should stop underestimating me.”

  “Okay, but be careful if you plan to be nice to someone. They might fall over and die of shock.”

  * * *

  Whiskey found Fox on her knees on the northern bank of Pinnacle Island, elbow-deep in the innards of a small feral goat. Beside her was a stack of woven bags to carry the meat home in. One for the liver, the lungs, the kidneys, heart and head. Another for the pelt, which she would need to skin off quickly, before the carcass became too stiff. A third for the meat and bones, which she would joint into smaller pieces: four legs, the ribs, the loin and belly. Once the meat was jointed, she would wash the bowels in the salt water, rinsing out the muck until the intestines were cleaned and could be made into sausage.

  This was how goat was used and prepared. It was a ritual Whiskey was familiar with, one she had practiced every kill. The sausage-making, the roasting or smoking of the hocks, the boiling of the hooves—all of these things would be left to sisters who were skilled at cooking and charcuterie. All the things that were done when the meat was fresh were old habits, familiar, safe and reassuring.

  It relaxed Whiskey to watch Fox, like listening to a familiar song. She would not strike until the Elikai was done, because if she did, the job would only be half finished and the meat and hide would go to waste. The idea of wasting food was abhorrent to Whiskey, even if kidnapping and imprisonment of an Elikai wasn’t.

  Watching Fox was interesting in its own way too. The roll of muscle under skin, the tanned lines of her shoulders, the intense look in her gray eyes as she worked, completely focused on the task at hand. She wasn’t simply working as quickly as she could; she was focusing on doing the task well. Every stroke of her blade was precise. Every organ was handled with care. Her meticulousness impressed Whiskey.

  If there was any Elikai that was Whiskey’s peer, it was this one. Fox was no fool either; she was working facing downwind to make it harder for anything, or anyone, to sneak up on her. She was well back from the water too, as cleaning carcasses by the water’s edge was the quickest way to die in the isles. The crocodiles were always there. For every one you could see, there were ten more you couldn’t, and more often than not, their favorite place to be was in burrows they had dug along the banks. It was only on the clear, sandy beaches that it was somewhat safe, and even then the water could be deceptive.

  Whiskey waited until Fox was packing away her kill and the intestines were clean. Flies were starting to gather on the discarded viscera. As Fox rose to her feet, gathering her baskets on her head and shoulders, Whiskey tossed a pebble into the underbrush behind her. She spun around, tense and alert, and Whiskey used the distraction to slip forward silently, placing every hand and foot so it made no sound at all. She froze as Fox whipped back around, then, when her attention flickered to the water, Whiskey threw another two pebbles in quick succession.

  Fox put aside the meat and scooped up her spear in one hand, her bone knife in the other, advancing cautiously toward the undergrowth.

  “Dog dog,” she murmured in a soft, singsong voice, though she was unsure. Killing one of the tribe’s tracking dogs wouldn’t have earned her any favors. Whiskey risked one more pebble, tossing it right where Fox was looking to draw her in. The moment the leaves rattled, Whiskey broke cover, charging at her in a silent sprint.

  Fox became aware of the attack an instant too late. Whiskey tossed the net and then bodychecked her. The Elikai went down, spear and bone knife tangled in the netting. Not wasting any time, Whiskey rolled her. There was a snap as the spear broke, caught between Fox, the net and the ground, and the Elikai yelped in pain.

  Whiskey, seeing the flash of bone in the tangled gray-green of the net, placed one foot on Fox’s back and fumbled for the knife. It bit into her fingers, but after some frantic, animalistic scrambling, she had it and Fox didn’t. The Elikai was still heaving, trying to work herself loose, but the net was tight, biting into her skin. Nylon nets were rare and precious in the archipelago. Whiskey only used hers on small, soft prey. Never crocodiles or boars. Once she had caught a four-foot shark in it, but the savage fish’s teeth had ripped the mesh. Fox was the biggest prey it had ever claimed.

  She grinned down at her.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Fox snarled. “Get off me, Whiskey. I’m not going to let you trade me for catfish or berries or whatever stupid thing you want today.”

  Her grin widened. “I want nothing so petty, I assure you.”

  “If I get loose,” Fox spat, “there will be no trading. I will tie you up somewhere the high tide will give the sharks and cray access to your guts. I am not as forgiving as my fearless leader.”

  “Your fearless leader and her deal with mine is the only thing between you and the extinction of the Elikai at my hands. But as long as this peace suits Charlie and the tribe is doing well, I won’t challenge it.”

  “None of us have forgotten your attempts to start a war.”

  “So the Elikai do have a memory of more than a month? Huh. I thought you were like dogs that way. Too stupid to remember the last full moon. Get up. I’m sick of watching you squirm around like a snake in the mud.”

  She rolled Fox onto her belly, inciting an angry hiss of complaint, and pulled back the net far enough to bind her hands with good, blue twine. Whiskey was careful with the knots, not wanting her to escape, but not wanting to ruin the twine either. There was so little to go around.

  She bound Fox’s feet too, but with strips of hide braided into ropes. She needed to be able to walk, but not run or kick. The leather, Whiskey could spare.

  She handed Fox one of the baskets. She had to carry it awkwardly behind herself, so it banged against the back of her thighs as she walked. But Whiskey couldn’t carry her own gear and the Elikai’s, so it was the only solution.

  “Walk.”

  “Where?”

  “South. Around the foot of the mountain. I have a hiding place in mind.”

  “Hiding place?” she asked, only now sounding confused. “Whiskey, where are we going? Take me back already.”

  “No. I told you this was no trade.”

  “My brothers will find my canoe. They know I was coming here to hunt goats.”

  “They won’t find mine. And yes, your habits are well-known. At least once a month I see you paddling over here. Too much red meat is not good for you. The iron gets in your blood.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “I read it somewhere.”

  “Well, I’m the best hunter on the isles, so I must be doing something right,” Fox muttered.

  She snorted. “I caught you, oh great one. I think it’s time you accept the mantle of second greatest hunter.”

  “Oh no. You get to keep the title of ‘greatest killer,’ Whiskey. No one is trying to take that from you.”

  She scowled. “You should talk less, Elikai. Particularly when I’m so well armed.”

  Fox fell silent, and they trudged slowly through the dense, wild growth of P
innacle Island. Its size, and the mountain, gave it protection from the cyclones, and the trees grew far bigger here than the other islands. The prey was larger too, as there was plenty of freshwater, fruit and even grass. Somewhere, there was a family of jaguars. A huge, old male lion too, though he’d only been seen once, and Whiskey suspected he was dead by now. Mostly it was goats, monkeys and dozens and dozens of boars. Plenty of things to be wary of. There were also hundreds of caves, and that meant there were too many hiding places and secret nooks for either tribe to find them.

  Whiskey was taking Fox to a den she had found a few years ago. Getting to it was a little tricky; the nearby forest was dense. There was a shallow freshwater stream that led right by it, which would hide their tracks and provide drinking water. The den itself was a clearing at the base of a sloping rock wall. It wasn’t much shelter from the rain, but with the sandy dirt it was mostly clear and dry and quite spacious. There would be plenty of room for the two of them and a fire pit, without any risk of the embers setting the forest alight.

  Whiskey had been pleased when she found it, but she had never imagined she’d be putting it to this kind of use. No one liked to hunt on the south side of the island. The trees were too thick, the boars too large and the entire southwest coast was a dense, treacherous mangrove, two miles wide in some places. It was packed with crocodiles, snakes, deadly sinkholes and stonefish. The only tasty prey were the thousands of seabirds that nested there once a year. Once, at the start of the breeding season, the Varekai had taken canoes to try together eggs from the nests. But the crocodiles bred in the mangroves too, and they were invisible in the mud and unusually aggressive. With chickens at home, the tribe had decided it was not worthwhile.

  No one would look for Whiskey and Fox here. No one would think to search the rocky outcroppings, so close to the mangroves. Whiskey could keep the Elikai here for months if she wanted.

  “Down into the creek,” she instructed, when they reached the clay banks.

  Fox looked apprehensive, but put the basket down and slid into the knee-deep water.

  Whiskey handed the basket back to her before following her down.

  “Move,” she demanded, and Fox complied, picking her way through the water that was now milky-gray from their passing.

  “This seems like a likely place to be bitten by snakes,” Fox grumbled.

  “Probably,” she agreed. “But we’re almost there.”

  “You’re not—” she hesitated, sounding genuinely worried, “—going to shove me in a sinkhole, are you?”

  Whiskey was silent a long moment, letting her stew. “No. We’re not going into the mangrove.”

  Fox seemed satisfied, and they waded through the silty water in silence for a time. Then they both froze, instantly still, at exactly the same moment. The smell of rotting fish was wafting through the trees, deep and fetid, like fish-gut slurry. It was the distinct smell of a large saltwater crocodile, somewhere very close by.

  Whiskey scanned every bank, searching for anything that could possibly be a predator lying in wait. The creek was narrow and fresh, but there could be hidden burrows along the bank, under the waterline.

  “Don’t move,” she breathed.

  Fox nodded once in a short, tight motion.

  Whiskey carefully laid aside the baskets and weapons, resting them on the bank. Everything but the two spears. She held one in each hand, and used them to slowly probe the silty water in front of Fox. They sunk into the clay bottom with ease, so she probed the banks, holding her breath, sliding forward a foot at a time. Creek bed, creek bed, bank, bank, creek bed, creek bed, bank, bank. Her eyes scanned the top of the banks, almost level with her chest here. A green python as thick as her arm watched her with lurid eyes, testing the air with a purple tongue. At any other time, she might have killed it for its greasy flesh, but today she ignored it. A hundred yards up from Fox, where the creek turned a bend, she stopped.

  She could see nothing. There was nothing in the water with them, and the smell was fading.

  There were other creeks nearby, flatter, wider ones, that made their way through the trees to the mangroves. Perhaps a crocodile had a den in one of those. It was no secret they were there, and there was, it seemed, no need to be alarmed.

  Unless of course the crocodile had been coming up behind them all along.

  “Fox...!”

  Whiskey tried to run in the clay and churning water. If it had been behind them, it would be in position right now. With the slightest move, Fox would trigger it to attack. All her hard work would be for nothing. The Elikai would be dead, and the tribes would go to war again.

  Fox was standing where she had left her, tense and wide-eyed. Whiskey scanned the water behind her. The flow of the creek had cleared away most of the silt, and the water was running clear again. There was only the bottom of the creek, their white footprints standing out clearly in the brown sediment on top of the clay.

  Fox looked back and forward. “What?”

  “I thought...” Whiskey frowned.

  “The smell has faded. I think it’s gone.”

  Whiskey’s shoulders slumped, her heart still pounding. “Or the wind changed. Come on, we’re not that far now. It’s just around the bend.”

  “The sooner we get out of the water the better,” Fox muttered.

  She nodded. For once, she felt no desire to disagree with her.

  Chapter Seven

  Sugar realized he was paddling faster than he needed to. He slowed his stroke, pretending he was only worried about Fox’s absence, but he was lying to himself. He wanted to see Charlie. He wanted to see him smile, and he wanted to be teased. He knew Charlie would exasperate and confuse him. There would be tension between the Varekai and the brothers who had come with him, but inside his chest his heart felt as if it were trying to break free and soar.

  He wasn’t even annoyed that they had captured Fox, though Fox would be as vicious as a cat in a snare. Sugar wondered if that was why he was being forced to come looking, instead of Charlie arriving with his message arrow. He hoped no one was hurt, but he was sure they would get past it if there had been a scuffle. Fox surely knew better than to injure a Varekai, even if his pride was at stake.

  The last few days had been stressful. Romeo’s unwelcome fixation on Sugar and his demands that Sugar be the one to couple with him; everyone else’s annoyance at Romeo, and then Sugar, in turn, for not just “getting it over with.” But sex shouldn’t be like that. It had always been fun, always been about bonding. Only, now maybe he could talk to Charlie about it. Maybe some of them could bond, like Tare and India had.

  It didn’t even matter if the Varekai said no, Sugar just wanted to see him again. Last time they’d met, Sugar had been abrupt. Distracted. He regretted it now. Looking back, he could see the Varekai had been hurt by his dismissal. He’d be nice today; he’d make up for it. They’d be friends again, just as soon as the Elikai had Fox back.

  He’d even finished making the backpack Charlie had coveted so much. He’d adjusted the design to cater to the Varekai’s unusual shape, and he couldn’t wait to see how well it fit.

  He was grinning as he jumped out in the shallow water, helping his brothers drag the canoe up onto the dark sand.

  “Coo-ee!” he called, and his cry was met by the howling of dogs, who ran, slavering, down the path from the Varekai village to snarl and bark in the tree line, held at bay by the sight of the Elikai spears.

  Charlie, along with Tango, India and Mike, padded silently through the trees, appearing like leopards and tigers through the foliage. A sharp word from Charlie silenced the dogs, and he padded cautiously down the beach to meet the Elikai. The other Varekai stayed in the trees with their spears and bows at the ready.

  “Sugar,” he said, part curious, part wary. “What are you doing here?”

  Sugar tro
tted up to greet him, unarmed and still smiling. “Well, I thought you would want your backpack. And I think you have something of mine.”

  He looked at the leather backpack in Sugar’s hands, then met his gaze again, puzzled. “Something of yours?”

  “Fox,” he said, feeling the first stirrings of doubt.

  “Fox? We haven’t seen him.”

  “Don’t play with me,” he said, uncertainly.

  “I’m not, I swear. I haven’t seen him.” She turned to look back at her brothers. “They’ve lost Fox.”

  “Maybe he fell in the channel like India!” Mike called back. “Have they looked for him in any sharks?”

  India made his way carefully to Charlie’s side.

  “Fox?” he asked, looking up at Sugar with liquid black eyes.

  Sugar nodded, and India frowned. Behind him, he could sense Tare practically shivering with excitement to see the little witchdoctor.

  “Charlie,” India said slowly. “I may have some idea what has happened to the Elikai sister.”

  “You do?” Charlie looked even more lost. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

  “I had no idea until the Elikai showed up, but Whiskey...” He sighed. “Whiskey and I had a disagreement.”

  “About what?” Charlie asked.

  India looked to Tare for a long moment before he spoke. “I have been meeting with Tare.”

  “What?” Charlie was outraged.

  India nodded. “Since we were rescued from the mainland, we have been meeting as often as we can, in secret. We’ve been having sex. I told Tare my theories about the hen—”

  Charlie cut her off. “Theories? That stupid story you told me about the seeds and the pollen and chickens?”

  India scowled. “It’s not stupid. Tare believes me. Whiskey believes me.”

  “I believe him,” Sugar said quietly.

  “You what?” Charlie demanded, turning on Sugar.

  “The theory is sound,” Sugar said. “I think your witchdoctor is right.”