by Frank Tuttle
Silicy banished the thought, decided that the Ballad of Tall King Eldred would sing just as well with Juwatha in the place of Mebetha, and bade the Sea Folk children to sit with a gentle motion of her hands.
* * *
"You sing beautifully," said Kula.
Startled, Silicy looked up from her book. Kula chuckled and sat down across from her in the shade of the Juwatha’s billowing foresails.
"Thank you," she said. She quickly closed her book.
Kula smiled, and settled back onto his makeshift seat, and closed his eyes.
Silicy frowned. She had known when she boarded the Sea Folk vessel that their customs and mores were strange, and little known. Indeed, the harbor master at Plinth had reacted with open surprise when the Juwatha’s captain accepted Silicy’s payment for passage. "They don’t take on passengers, as a rule," the harbor-master had said. "Cotton and lumber and spices and water. Passengers? Once a blue moon." Then he had shrugged and taken Silicy’s purse. "Still, you’ll get where you’re going. Pirates turn tack at the sight of a Sea Folk sail, and some say storms do too. You’re a lucky young woman," he’d added. "Sea Folk passage to a position to a Regent in Opalan. That’s rare good luck, and no mistake."
And indeed the Sea Folk had been strange and frightening. Even in the harbor, they’d worn cutlasses and shields, and the decks of the Juwatha had bristled with spears and armed crew. The Juwatha itself dwarfed all the other vessels, even the Kingdom frigates moored at the mouth of the bay; Silicy had nearly bolted at stepping into a pilot boat filled with two dozen painted, glaring Sea Folk warriors who rowed with cutlasses across their laps and cruel barbed spears standing upright beside them.
Silicy had been wordlessly shown to a deckroom, and she’d spent the better part of that day contriving a wedge for the door. But then, to her amazement, when the last thin smear of land had dropped below the horizon, the Sea Folk had cast off their weapons and armor, and amid much back-slapping and laughing they’d washed the paint from their faces and chests.
Women and children then appeared, smiling and shouting, and Sicily realized that many of the "warriors" she’d seen from shore were wives and taller children. Silicy had peeped through her tiny window as the men rushed to and fro, handing out gifts of scarves and wooden toys and, in one instance, a ridiculous feather-and-fruit Phendelit day-hat.
Wine was drunk; and brick-lined cooking-pits at the stern of the Juwatha were uncovered, and soon the scent of roasting beef and the twang of a badly-played guitar wafted across the decks.
Silicy hadn’t seen a weapon since. Indeed, the Sea Folk were gentle; more than once Silicy had watched as a lean, tall sailor took time from his chores to leap through the rigging, pursued by or pursuing a laughing mob of wiry children – and the Captain himself had looked up and laughed and cheered them on.
Since then Silicy had emerged from her deckroom, and had moved about the Juwatha with increasing boldness. She was met with smiles and waves wherever she went, and though the Sea Folk apparently spoke several languages among themselves (Silicy recognized High Ghant, for one, but could speak only a few words of it herself) only Kula spoke Kingdom.
And now Kula sat across from her, eyes closed, for all appearance taking a nap – but Silicy knew that among the Sea Folk, this was merely a signal that one wished to talk.
"The Juwatha is a fine vessel," she said, at last.
"Thank you," said Kula. "As we say, Sea is home, and Juwatha is Sea." Then he opened his eyes, and met Silicy’s. "Home is important, is it not?"
Silicy bit her lip. Kula leaned forward. "Forgive me," he said. Then he tilted his head, and pointed at Silicy’s book. "What do you read?" he asked.
Silicy looked down at her book. "It is a book of poetry," she said.
Kula smiled. "May I?" he said, holding forth his hand.
Silicy hoped she hid her look of surprise. "Of course," she said. "I am honored."
Kula took the book, and let the wind open it, and stopped it gently as the pages rifled past.
"Great was the fire-worm, bright was his eye,
Gleaming his long teeth, terrible his cry,
Bertrath drew his blade, but cold fear choked his chest,
For all the sons of Eglad the worm did grisly best."
Kula looked up. "Pretty, missa," he said. "Does it end well?"
Silicy shrugged. "Keep it and see," she said. Kula shook his head.
"No, no, I cannot," he said, offering Silicy the book. "I could see by the way you held it – it is a treasure, to you. One may not take a treasure, without giving one in return."
Silicy took the book, but shook her head. "You might as well take it," she said. "Take it. Take all my books – I was going to sell them in Opalan, anyway," she said. "Sell them, or drop them into the harbor."
Kula half-rose, then sat. "Why do this?" he said. "Why?"
Silicy sighed. "I go to be the governess to the children of a Regent," she said. "The Opalans are devout Fronists, and Fronists . . . frown on works of poetry and philosophy," she said. And I won’t even mention how they feel about plays, or fiction, or epic poems. "I brought them to read, one last time. I would rather they go to someone who could love them." Silicy halted, waited for a moment. "Please take them."
Kula shook his head. "They would take away what you love," he said. "Why do you go?"
Silicy frowned. Kula’s words rang within her, as if freed at last by Kula’s soft utterance of them. Why do I go?
"It is a wonderful position," she said, still frowning. "I was chosen above twenty-two others – chosen to tutor the child of a Regent."
Kula met her gaze. "Is this a treasure worthy of the one you hold?" he asked.
"I have to respect the beliefs of the Regent, and his house" she said. "There will be other books."
Kula nodded, rose, and smiled. "The Sea is wide and deep," he said. "Who knows what it shall bear?"
Then he was off, padding barefoot across the sun-baked deck and shouting merrily in Folk to his fellows.
Silicy rose and turned toward her deckroom, thought of the midday heat stifling the tiny room, and sat back down again.
Why do I go?
Because it’s the chance of a lifetime, she thought. Because I studied and starved and sacrificed for nine years for an opportunity like the Regent’s. Because if I don’t, I’ll be waiting tables in Berlath within the year, or worse -- and I still owe the College half a year’s wages, even at the Regent’s generous purse.
Tiggi and a laughing mob of children scampered past, leaping and shrieking. Silicy waved, and only then did she realize she was clutching her book close to her breast.
"I won’t really drop you in the harbor," she said, after the children passed. "I won’t."
The Juwatha heaved, and the sails snapped, and Silicy clutched her book tight and hoped the wind and the shouting of the Sea Folk would mask the sound of her crying.
* * *
Three days out of the harbor at Plinth, the skies, so blue at first, turned the color of old lead, and the waves showed more white than blue.
By midday of the fourth day, the wind became a lashing howl of spray. The Sea Folk dropped the Juwatha’s sails, her captain turned her into the wind, and Silicy found that her early tolerance for the monstrous vessel’s gentle rises and falls did not extend itself to bear the mad heaves and rolls that now tossed the ship about.
Silicy clutched at her bed-frame and chewed on a rag. The rag tasted of peppermint and valerian and another herb Silicy could not name, and if it did any good at all Silicy could not tell it. Tiggi remained at her side, bucket in hand, though Silicy had long ago emptied her stomach. "Missa, missa," murmured Tiggi, as he wiped Silicy’s brow with a cloth wet with cold rain-water. "Missa shick."
Silicy groaned. Missa shick, indeed, she thought, and at the thought her stomach heaved again.
Tiggi dropped his empty bucket and darted out onto the pitching, rainswept deck. A moment later he reappeared, drenching and dripping, w
ith Kula quick behind.
Tiggi pointed and spoke, and Kula knelt at Silicy’s side and looked solemnly upon her.
"Tiggi fears for you," he said, gently. "He has never seen seasickness before."
Silicy spat out the rag. "Thank him," she said, between gasps. "Tell him. I shall be. Fine." Her stomach churned, and her head swam, and she closed her eyes and clenched her jaw.
Rough fingers lightly touched her brow, and she knew they were Kula’s. Kula said something long and melodious to Tiggi, and the boy replied, and then Tiggi’s small hand squeezed hers and the door to her deckroom opened, let in a spray of rain, and shut again, and Silicy knew only Kula remained.
"I sent him away," said Kula. His fingers still rested on Silicy’s forehead, and as he spoke they began to trace out a pattern on her skin.
"We have a saying," said Kula. "Some storms are of the Sea, and some are of the Folk."
Silicy fought to open her eyes, but found she could not. The nausea, the churning in her stomach, the spinning in her head – all remained, but were being borne down, dragged under by the weight of a sudden, crushing weariness that made as if to pull Silicy down through her bed and beneath the heaving waves.
"This is your storm, missa," said Kula. Outside, the storm still rumbled and blew, as wide as the Great Sea and as tall as the sky, but Silicy found she could barely hear the thunder above the sudden strange roar of Kula’s words. "Your storm. Winds of doubt, waves of fear, sleet and wash and spray of anger – they rage within, and now without. The Sea knows its own, missa of the Kingdom. It knows you, and it hears you, and your storm has touched the face of the waters."
Kula sang a long word, and Silicy felt a bright light, like lightning without the peal of thunder, fall upon her face.
"You wished to give me a gift," said Kula. "I give you one in return."
Kula spoke another word of Sea Folk, and the warmth of the light increased.
"The Sea is wide and deep," he said. "It touches many shores. I shall show you one such shore, my sister," he said. "One such shore, of many, and you may then decide where to steer."
Silicy struggled to open an eye. I don’t understand, she thought, against the overwhelming weariness. I don’t understand.
She felt Kula smile. "In a moment, you will dream," he said. "You will dream of your life at the Court of this Regent. You will dream of Opalan, and all that shall come to pass there, and what your life there might be. And when the dream ends, you will be asked a question." Silicy felt Kula lean closer. "Was it worth it?" he whispered. "Was the treasure you received worthy of the one you cast into the Sea?"
The light grew brighter still – brighter, and warm. "If it be so, say yes. Say yes, and you may go forth to the Regent, and be welcome in his house for as long as you may stay. But if you say no – if you say no, my sister, you will find that within yourself you have the courage to seek your treasures elsewhere."
Silicy was numb. The light was warm – warm like the sun, warm like the glow from a crackling autumn fire. She sank deeper into her bed, and she felt sleep rushing toward her like a steady gust of rising wind.
"Choose," said Kula. "Choose, and your storm is spent, and you may walk under a sky full of sun." His fingers stroked her forehead, gently, once more. "You shall not remember. Choose well."
Kula sang another word, and thunder rolled, and sleep as deep as the Sea rushed over Silicy and hid her from the light.
* * *
Silicy awoke.
She rolled over, tangled in bed sheets sour with sweat and sickness. The sunlight stung her eyes, and she tried to speak through a throat gone raw and dry.
She heard rather than saw the door to her deckroom open. A short blur darted inside, and raced to her bed.
"Atto, missa, atto!" said Tiggi. He thrust a tall, heavy mug into her hands.
Water. Silicy drank, and drank, and took a breath and drank until the mug was empty. The water was clean and cold – as cold as snow-melt, and as clean. Though her head pounded and reeled, Silicy wondered at the water – doubly so when she felt a chunk of ice touch her lips.
Her vision cleared as the mug emptied. Tiggi stood regarding her with a smile. When the mug was empty, he took it, said something in Sea, and raced away again.
He left the door open behind him. Silicy sat on the edge of her bed and gazed out onto the Juwatha’s deck. The wood was already dry, every trace of rainwater gone in the heat of the midday sun.
Midday? Silicy blinked and looked again – yes, midday; the shadows of the masts were fat and round, as they were when the sun rode directly above.
Silicy rubbed her eyes. I must have slept like the dead, she thought. Indeed, she felt as if she had lain unmoving for a day and a night; her muscles ached at the slightest move or stretch.
At least I’m not sick, though, she thought, and shuddered at the memory. She was surprised, though, to find that she was hungry when the scent of bread baking wafted through the open door.
Bread. And ice. On a ship?
Silicy started to rise, sat again, and put her head in her hands. "Time for poking about later," she muttered, to herself. "It’s a long way for Opalan."
"It is indeed," said a voice. Silicy turned, too quickly, but found Kula’s face hanging in the tiny round deckroom window. "Many days remain." Kula smiled. "You were quite ill, missa," he said. "And yet you have weathered the storm, after all."
Silicy tried to smile. "I had strange dreams," she said, knitting her brow. "I cannot quite remember them, but it seems you were there."
Kula shook his head. "The Sea is wide and deep," he said, by way of agreement.
Tiggi darted back into the room. He bore another mug of water, a half-loaf of soft white bread, and a bright red apple. All of these he thrust at Silicy.
"Atto," he said, when she took the water.
"Ulpa," he said, as she took the bread.
"Innapo," he said, as she took the apple.
Silicy held each up, and repeated Tiggi’s word’s. The boy smiled and nodded.
Silicy took the water, and drank another long drink. Ice floated in this mug, as well. "Kula," she said, when she was done. "There are things about your people I would learn, if you are willing to teach me."
Kula appeared in her doorway. "I would gladly teach you, missa Silicy," he said. "And I would learn from you, as well. Your Kingdom marches across the lands, and we of the Sea know so little of it."
Silicy found a smile. She took a long breath, and a nibble of the bread, and the pounding in her head grew softer with every passing heartbeat. Even the Juwatha’s gentle lifts and falls were scarcely noticeable; indeed, Silicy realized that she was unconsciously moving the mug to and fro in time with the Sea.
Silicy shrugged. "Then we shall all learn from one another," she said. "It is a long journey, to Opalan."
Kula sat down beside her and looked into her eyes. "Oh, it is indeed," he said. "It is indeed."
The sun was warm on Silicy’s face. "The Sea is wide and deep," she said, surprising herself. "Who knows what it shall bear?"
Kula laughed, and pulled one of Silicy’s books from its box on the floor, and put the book gently in her hands.
"The Sea knows its own," said Kula. Then he motioned for Tiggi to sit beside him. "Share with us your treasures," he said. "I would hear more of this hero, and his fire-worm foe."
Silicy opened the book, cleared her throat, and, as the Juwatha rode gentle on the Great Sea, she lifted her voice and began to read.
Tinker Bell, Cannon Dale, and the All Wheeling Nick of Time
by Frank Tuttle
Beats me what it is about Elves and bicycles. Hell, the Fair Folk spend all that time fussing with swords and wands and suchlike; you'd think they'd have learned something about how -- or, more to the point, how not -- to treat a finely-crafted, hideously expensive thing of gears and chains and wheels.
But there in my door was Tink, again, her brand new carbon-fiber Trek Antelope frame hung bent in her left hand,
her iridescent titanium-spoked LiteSteel front wheel squashed into a hopeless oval in her right.
I dropped a torx wrench and groaned in despair.
"Elbereth and Gilthoniel," I said. "Tink, what have you done?"
She batted those big gold Elf eyes and turned full upon me that thousand-watt summer-sun Elf smile. "It's only a bit o' bend," she said. I heard the wash of Faery glamor in her honey-smooth voice, and I looked at the ruined Trek again and shoved the charm aside.
"None of that jazz, Tink, or I swear I'll put you at the end of my list," I said. "Talk straight. Don't break my heart twice today."
She sighed, and the sunset-glow behind her eyes faded, just a bit.
"Took a wee spill," she said. "Need you to fix it by sundown."
"A spill," I said. "Where? Off the Edge?" I waved her inside, slapped the door remote so that the thick steel panels groaned down behind her. My bike shop isn't in a bad part of Tir Na Nog, but I've learned the hard way that Tink's "wee spills" tend to be nine feet tall and determined to follow her around in hopes of finishing her off.
She laughed suddenly, all bells and wind-chimes and flutes. "I had a run through the Wild Alleys," she said, pushing back a long lock of spun-gold hair. "Made it, too, I did."
I took the frame from Tink, waved off her offer of the Litesteel. Brokk himself and a gang of somber bespectacled German tinker dwarves couldn't have trued that wheel, and I wasn't going to waste my time trying.
"Barely made it, you did." I said. I hung the poor Antelope in my inspection frame and stepped back, surveying the damage.
Front fork bent, right tine cracked. Handlebar bent; right handgrip gone, titanium tube and shifter cables alike pinched and cut off clean five inches short of the end. Downrod bent, with tube collapse at the bend. Front fork hub cracked. The right pedal was frozen, bent back at the bearing a good ten degrees -- far enough that I knew the crank to be ruined, as well. It had taken me two months to get that crank shipped from Germany to Seattle to Huntsville, and another two full moons of paying thirty Wiccans to pray it past the Veil.