Storyteller

by Amy Thomson

  RUNNING FLOATING HOSPITALS FOR THE HARSELS, EVEN WILD HARSELS CAN GET THEIR HOLDS CLEANED. HARSELS LIVE LONGER, HEALTHIER LIVES NOW. AND WE PRODUCE MORE AND HEALTHIER OFFSPRING SINCE WE STARTED PARTNERING WITH HUMANS."

  Teller looked suddenly haunted. Something in Abeha's last remark had upset her. Samad gave her a questioning look, but Teller turned away. Abeha claimed to not remem­ber the incident when Samad asked the harsel about it. Samad sighed. He loved Teller, but he wished that she were not so mysterious.

  On shore, things were much as they had been before, though Teller was more open with him about her plans. They stopped at ports with harsel facilities as often as possi­ble, so that Abeha's crew pod could be removed. But when the island they were visiting had no facilities, they left the crew pod in place and went ashore in the inflatable dinghy stored just outside the pod's airlock.

  Abeha sailed with the other harsels while Teller and Samad visited the island. They traveled from town to town or household to household, telling stories and gathering gossip. Depending on the size and population of the island, they would be gone anywhere from a couple of days to a couple of weeks. Then they would rendezvous with the harsel and sail off to the next island.

  All in all, it was a glorious summer, full of sun and sea and the excitement of new places and new people. Samad learned basic seamanship. By summer's end, he could read a chart, navigate by the two moons and the stars, and knew a fair amount of basic sailing.

  In addition to learning seamanship, he also heard more stories than he ever knew existed in the world. Each new story only fueled his enthusiasm for more. He had memo­rized the entire Pilot Cycle, from the Pilot's first landing through her long sojourn alone on the planet. Then there were the stories of early years of the colony, where she ap­peared from nowhere to help those in need. And finally there were stories about her mysterious disappearance. Sev­eral islands claimed to host the Pilot's grave site, but several other stories claimed that the Pilot had ridden off on the back of her harsel and was never seen again.

  Teller also helped Samad improve his reading skills. They downloaded books from every library they could find, and nearly every island had at least one small library. Teller also visited bookstalls in all the big port towns. She was continually trading storytelling sessions for new downloads. She even bought hardcopy books, which they read and then donated to libraries in outlying islands.

  Teller downloaded a lot of textbooks, and she kept Samad busy learning their contents. Teller taught him math and geography, history, science, and Arabic and Castilian gram­mar. She also insisted on teaching him Greek. He liked

  most everything but the math and the grammar, but by the end of their first year together, he could speak flowery for­mal Arabic and genteel Castellano as well as the gutter ar­got he had grown up with. He could also carry on simple Greek conversations and do basic arithmetic.

  But Samad could not see how Teller managed to live off of the money they made. True, they lived cheaply. Teller was resourceful at finding free lodging and food wherever they went. The small change and little gifts gathered after her stories would have been nearly adequate if she had per­formed regularly. But she was always stopping to help oth­ers. Sometimes it was a beggar in the streets. Other times she spent the morning listening to someone lost and alone pour out their troubles. Or she would spend a week or two helping out where someone was ill. Sometimes she did the chores, and other times she looked after the patient. She al­ways refused payment for doing this. If there was a flood or a disaster, she would load the crew pod's normally empty storage holds with relief supplies and carry them where they were needed. When Samad asked why she helped so much, Teller replied that it was what the Pilot would have done, if she'd been alive.

  And then there was Abeha, the biggest harsel he'd ever seen or heard of. None of the other storytellers were part­nered with a harsel. Most people simply assumed that Teller was a retired har captain who had joined the Guild as a hobby in her declining years. But the Senior Guild mem­bers treated Teller with too much respect for her to be a mere hobbyist. There was nothing retired about Teller or Abeha, either. They took what they did very seriously. Samad had no idea what, exactly, they were doing; but it was a good deal more than telling stories.

  Nor was Teller just a har captain, either. Except for emer­gencies, the only "cargo" she hauled was hardcopy books for

  various libraries, and those barely filled a single storage locker. And she never accepted payment for the books or their transportation.

  A harsel the size of Abeha could haul half again as much cargo as any ordinary harsel. Teller could be wealthy if she chose. But Abeha's crew pod was worn and shabby, where the other har captains' were new and well-appointed. Teller's clothes were sturdy and well made, but they had seen long use. But despite her aging crew pod and old clothes, the other har captains treated Teller and Abeha with a respect approaching awe. And like the Guild, it was always the oldest and wisest captains that treated them with the most respect.

  Clearly there was something different about Teller. But Samad couldn't figure out what it was. The har captains treated her with respect because their harsels did. The story­tellers treated her with respect because she was an important member of the Guild. But the few people who actually seemed to know why she was so important were as close-mouthed as Filitosan menhirs. When he asked Abeha about it, the harsel told him to go ask Teller. And when he asked Teller, she smiled and said that she was just an old woman, and not important at all.

  There was a secret at the heart of Teller's life, and not knowing it bothered Samad. But when he probed Teller about details of her past, she always found some way to put him off. If he persisted, she simply became silent.

  So instead of prying at Teller's secret, he watched and waited for a clue that would reveal it. He hoped that some­day Teller would trust him enough to tell him what made her so different.

  Summer ended, and fall began. They sailed south, into the tropics. The warm azure water was the realm of the sea sprites. Their scaly green heads bobbed up out of the water

  to watch them as they sailed past. On the sandy white beaches, sleek green sea sprites suckled their young. Often they would ride Abeha's bow wave, crisscrossing in front of the harsel with a joyous grace. Then one of the sea sprites leaped over a meter out of the water to snatch a heavily laden fisher bird from the air. With a snap of its wide-jawed head, the sea sprite shook the bird out of its skin. The bird's feathered skin floated on the surface like a bloody rag, while the sea sprite devoured the rest of the bird in three quick bites. Then it dove beneath the azure water and vanished.

  "before the humans came, the sea sprites were ALL WE HAD FOR COMPANY," Abeha said as Samad watched the floating feathers recede behind them on the empty sea. "we didn't know how lonely we were."

  "Do you remember that far back, Abeha?" Samad asked. "I didn't realize you were that old."

  "harsels have long memories, we carry our an­cestors with us." And Abeha sang a fragment of a mem­ory song, "that song contains the memories of one

  WHO DIED MANY GENERATIONS AGO. ALL OF US HOLD SOME OF OUR MOTHER'S AND GRANDMOTHER'S MEMORIES INSIDE OF US."

  "Do you know anything about the Pilot's harsel?"

  "i carry those memories," Abeha said.

  "He must have been a wonderful harsel," Samad said with a sigh. "I wish I'd known him."

  "i'm told that he was very nice," Abeha said. There was a faint chime of amusement in his voice.

  "But he couldn't have been as wonderful as you are," Samad assured him.

  Abeha's golden laughter pealed through Samad's head. "i'm sure the pilot thought her harsel was just as wonderful."

  All too soon it was time for Abeha to join the other

  harsels in their migration to the icy southern reaches of the Great South Sea. During the long days of the Southern Hemisphere's summer, the nutrient-rich waters became a rich broth of plankton. In four months' time Abeha would return, sleek
with rich feeding and full of news of the other harsels.

  During Abeha's absence, Teller and Samad joined a trav­eling school sailing around the Vorias Archipelago on an old schooner named the Oriu. The Oriu traveled in a circular route through the islands, spending a couple of days at each stop, tutoring local children on the courses they received over the satellite network. In addition to Teller, who taught Thalassan history through storytelling, the Oriu carried teachers proficient in several languages, as well as reading, writing, science, and math.

  In return for storytelling sessions and seminars on Tha­lassan history, the other teachers tutored Samad during the runs between islands.

  As the ward of one of the teachers, he was expected to be a model for the other students. The teachers were constantly pushing him to learn more and more, almost competing with each other over how much they could teach him. Since Teller would lose face if he looked stupid, he studied hard. But there were days he was tempted to jump overboard and swim to the nearest island.

  At last Abeha's tall sail appeared on the horizon. Samad watched impatiently as the harsel came closer. Finally, he could bear it no longer. Snatching off his shirt, Samad leaped over the railing and swam out to meet Abeha.

  "Abeha! It's so good to see you!" he said as the harsel gen­tly lifted him onto its broad nose. "Did you miss me?"

  "of course samad. and, fortunately, so did the big manao that was trailing you."

  "What manao?" Samad exclaimed, looking back at where

  he'd been swimming. The big predators weren't common in these waters, but occasional attacks did happen. Then he caught the undercurrent of amusement in Abeha's mind speech. "Abeha!" he shouted, "You're teasing!"

  "yes, but you should still be careful, samad. teller would never forgive me if something hap­pened to you. how is she?"

  "She's fine," Samad said. "But it's been nothing but school, school, school ever since you left. My brain is full!"

  Abeha's laughter chimed in his head, washing over Samad in a wave of pleasure, "there's still a little empty space!"

  Samad's heart leaped at the sound of the harsel's laughter. "Oh Abeha! I'm so glad you're back!" He leaned against the harsel's mast, feeling it shift and thrum as Abeha pulled alongside of the schooner. Teller dove over the side and climbed onto the harsel's back.

  "Hello, Abeha. Did the migration go well?"

  "just like always," he assured her. "and you? how is

  THE TEACHING GOING?"

  The two of them talked as casually as if Abeha had only been gone for a day, but Teller's face had lost that tense look that had become more and more pronounced the longer that Abeha was away. It was time that he left them alone. Samad swam back to the schooner. When he looked back, Teller was seated against the mast, eyes closed, a peaceful smile on her face. One hand rested gently on the harsel's back. Samad smiled, happy beyond words at the harsel's return.

  But Abeha's arrival did not mean that Samad got a break from his studies. As a farewell present, the teachers gave them a surplus satellite receiver. Samad had to spend hours listening to the satellite teachers drone on and on. If he complained, Teller suggested that they settle down some­where so that he could attend a regular school. Samad always backed down. The Satellite School might be incredibly boring, but at least he was with Abeha.

  The spring term ended as they were sailing northeast to­ward the Mitiline Archipelago. But even though formal school was out for the summer, Teller continued to grill him on his math and test his linguistic fluency by speaking to him in different languages. At least with Teller, the lessons could take place up in the warm sunshine on Abeha's back.

  After visiting the Mitilines, they sailed south through the Corsican Archipelago to Filicudi. From there they looped west along the coast of Marsala and then north again past the tropical isles of Abir, Sursur, and Altair Abayyid, where the muezzin's call echoed across the warm, still sea and tiny flying fish skimmed ahead of Abeha like skipped stones. When they passed to windward of an island, the scent of greenery and spices wafted far out over the sea. At night the water glowed with eerie blue phosphorescence. Samad would sit on Abeha's nose and watch the phosphorescence churning in his bow wave.

  They stopped at Jazirat al-Arwah, the Island of Souls, where most of Thalassa's major religions had their semin­aries. They were greeted by a respectful delegation of repre­sentatives from each of the religions represented on the island. They were shown to spare but comfortable quarters. They had a surprisingly lavish feast of bastilla, chicken roasted with lemons, and flaky roast fish for the meat eaters. For the vegetarians in attendance, there was a rich vegetable tagine, couscous made with vegetable broth, rich, creamy kugel, and a plate of byesar served with a pillowy-soft pile of hot pita bread. For dessert there was rich baklava and rugela. When the feast was over, Teller and Samad thanked their hosts and belched appropriately. Then Teller left to confer with their hosts, while Samad headed back to their room and fell asleep.

  For the next week, Samad only saw Teller in the morn­ings, over breakfast. The rest of the day he spent exploring the island, going wherever entrance was permitted. Samad passed many classrooms full of earnest students studying various holy texts. He wandered through courtyards of rab­bis and imams quietly discussing fine points of Jewish and Islamic law. Once he tiptoed into a silent sanctuary full of black-robed Jesuit priests meditating under the watchful eye of a saffron-robed Buddhist nun.

  The island was full of murmurs and music, bells, choirs, cantors, and muezzins, all praising the divine in their vari­ous ways. Even the patterns of light and shade in the breezy limestone-pillared arbors and courtyards seemed imbued with special significance. When he tired of the civilized courts of religion, he explored the wilder parts of the dry, rocky island. But even here, the fragrant scrub was criss­crossed with paths that led to small retreats and hermitages, where mystics prayed and meditated. The island was as full of devotion as a sponge is full of water. It felt as if you squeezed the air, blessedness would rain down like holy wa­ter. Even the lizards stared off into space as though contem­plating the divine.

  They stayed there for more than a week. Teller seemed to absorb more of the island's serenity and peace with each day they stayed there. Samad was pleased at the change but was a little relieved when they carried their bags down the long, white stone stairway to the pier where Abeha was waiting. After so long amid the white limestone chapels and court­yards, the water seemed even more intensely blue than he remembered. Clouds of pure white fairy gulls flicked past on long, narrow, swept-back wings as they rounded the point with its lighthouse and small whitewashed chapel and emerged into the choppier, darker blue waters of the strait beyond.

  Samad looked back at the rocky green-and-white island they had left behind. It was a fascinating place, but he had felt very much like an outsider. None of the religions had called to him. He wondered if it was the same for Teller. She had never spoken of any deep, spiritual beliefs.

  "What is your religion?" he asked Teller.

  Teller turned away from the island and looked out at the white-capped azure water of the strait and the islands be­yond it. In the distance, a fleet of harsels tacked one after the other. Their sails bloomed like flowers as they swung onto a new course. The sea wind stirred her gray hair.

  She smiled mysteriously and gestured at the sea, the is­lands, and the wide blue sky arching above them.

  "Thalassa is my religion, Samad."

  Samad looked at the wind-tossed blue sea and the distant line of harsels. "I think it's mine, too," he confided.

  Over the course of this year's travels, they had shuttled through a confusion of seasons: summer in the tropics, then spring and summer again in the north, and finally, on the cusp of the Northern Hemisphere's fall, they sailed back into the warm tropics again. Now they moved into spring again as they sailed deeper into the Southern Hemisphere. They were heading for the island of Thira in the Borghese Archipelago, on the northern edge of the Great Sou
th Sea. Teller would teach there while Abeha headed south with the other harsels.

  As the weather cooled, Samad pulled out the warm clothes that Teller had gotten him so long ago in Melilla. He tried them on and was amazed to see his legs protruding from the pants. His fine blue shirt that Teller had sewed Perez's buttons onto was tight across his shoulders.

  Teller looked up and smiled. "You've grown a lot, Samad," Teller remarked. "And filled out, too."

  "But these clothes were special," Samad mourned. "You gave them to me, remember? And Perez gave me the but­tons."

  "Like it was yesterday, Samad. I'm afraid if I blink my eyes, you'll be all grown up." Teller tousled his hair affec­tionately, but there was a hint of sadness in her eyes.

  Samad shrugged. "It'll take a little longer than that, Teller. I promise."

  "I'll buy you a new shirt at the next port, and you can sew those buttons onto it."

  Samad looked down at the shirt, stroking the soft, well-worn fabric. "I was going to sell these buttons after you left, Teller. It was going to break my heart to do it, but I had to live." He looked up at her. "I was so afraid of being alone again."

  Teller gave him a hug. He felt Abeha's warm presence enfolding him as well. "Well, you're not alone now."

  "I've got you and Abeha. I'll never be lonely again."

  A shadow passed over Teller's face, and, though the words were hidden from him, he could tell that Abeha was speaking privately to her. Teller smiled fondly at him and gave him another quick hug. "No, Samad, you're too easy to love," she said gently. "Does that sweater we picked up in Filicudi still fit?" she asked, changing the subject.

  By now Samad knew better than to ask what was the matter. The shadow had passed for now. Samad struggled out of his outgrown shirt. He wished he knew what made Teller so sad, but neither Teller nor Abeha would even ad­mit that there was anything wrong.

  Abeha left them at Thira to join the harsels' southern mi­gration.

  "I'll miss you, Abeha," Samad said when the time for farewells arrived.