Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
Epilogue
About the Authors
By Anne McCaffrey and Elizabeth Ann Scarborough
Copyright Page
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO MARY, KE-OLA, AND KEOKI POOLE
We’d also like to acknowledge the contributions of Lea Day for her memories of Hawaii and her research of both print and televised sources of information about volcanoes, otters, seals, and sea turtles. Richard Reaser provided valuable feedback and inspiration as well as consultation on scientific matters, while Andy Logan provided dinner. Mary, Ke-ola (the hula consultant), and Keoki Poole provided valuable information about Hawaiian culture, language, and customs and generously shared their own resources with us.
Prologue
PETAYBEE WAS CHANGING. It was always changing. The quakes and eruptions, avalanches and slides, great winds on land and sea, even the ebb and flow of the tide, brought about fundamental changes in the planet’s surface, in the way it was. The people who lived on Petaybee knew and accepted this. If it had not been for the changes, jump-started and accelerated by a terraforming process begun only a few decades before, no one would have been able to live on Petaybee. The people made songs about the changes, celebrated them.
Their planet, once a cold ball of cosmic rock, was an awakening giant. Each shift, slide, rumble, storm, or explosion was a sign that Petaybee was stretching, growing, continuing to re-form its being into something even grander than it already was. The people and their songs celebrated the changes.
A lot they knew.
If they had bothered to ask their sentient planet just once how Petaybee felt instead of always bringing their own hopes and fears, joys and sorrows, into the communion caves where they spoke to the planet and the planet responded, Petaybee would have told them that it sometimes hurt.
All of that grinding of plates, cracking the surface, sloughing away here, washing away there, pushing some bits out and pulling others back, could be painful. Most worlds could take millennia to do what Petaybee did in hours, days, weeks, at the most, years. It was really quite a hectic pace, all this change in such a short time, and Petaybee was not always sure just what was happening to its great self or why.
The planet did know that its function was to be a home for its creatures, its two-legged, four-legged, winged, shelled, finned, and flippered fauna; its leaved, flowered, vined, barked, or grassy flora. It not only made homes for these life forms, it helped them adapt to its conditions so that their fragile husks did not die. The cycle of life formed by all of these living creatures fed Petaybee’s vitality even as the planet nourished them. The two-leggeds who had become part of Petaybee’s own great being returned its care by keeping the more destructive members of their species at bay, in space, away from their world.
No one was allowed to drill into it or set explosions on its surface to take away bits of its body it might have a use for later. If life was taken, it was replaced by new life.
Though a small planet whose surface consisted of little more than two ice caps and a sea between them, Petaybee had nevertheless made a lot of progress since its terraforming.
But it wasn’t enough. Petaybee had to—had to—make other kinds of places where more life forms could live. There was too much sea. Too much ice. If there were warm places, dry places, where life could begin, that life could become part of the cycle too and would add its own special gifts to its world. Though Petaybee was a world that could, as humans understood it, think, this idea was not a thought or even a true idea as such. It was a compulsion that expressed itself as a buildup of pressure in one particular area. Here. Land belonged here. The sea felt particularly empty and limitless at that point, but moreover, Petaybee actually felt as if it contained a continent within its core. A continent that belonged in this place where now waves rolled on and on. Some shoreline was needed. Some beach. And eventually, some trees and flowers, perhaps, other plants and animals. Yes. As industriously and deliberately as a two-legged dweller might move the furniture inside a house, Petaybee began rearranging its own interior to create what belonged on the surface.
This was not easy, even for an entire sentient planet with a sense of purpose. The landmasses were too far to move them to the empty spot without destroying all of the other life. Besides, the ice would melt and upset everything. The only efficient way to get land in the right spot was to bring it up from the inside, up through the bottom of the sea. And so Petaybee hacked and coughed and spewed and spewed and shot its red hot inner essence up into the sea bed, where some of the minerals within the hot sulfurous gas and magma turned into hollow rock towers that became chimneys for other eruptions.
As the hot vents opened like red mouths, Petaybee swallowed great gouts of seawater. It mixed with the minerals in the molten rock, then, superheated and full of nutrients, it shot back into the sea. When it cooled, it was a warm nutrient for new life. New species of plants and animals sprang up all over. They were not bothered by the sulfurous waters, but thrived in them. Petaybee thought this was as it should be, but then, Petaybee had a very large view of things. It took no particular notice of the other life forms lurking near its new cauldron, the ones not of its own creation.
Until that point, the planet’s creation had blossomed in relative obscurity—the people had neither navy or civilian fleets, no boats, in fact, but those used for subsistence fishing and hunting. Flybys were rare. There was no satellite surveillance. Once, a seal had swum by, pausing to observe the volcano’s birth with interest. But he was on his way elsewhere. Only now, with the newest of the life forms in place, was Petaybee’s work monitored, though it was done so unobtrusively that the preoccupied planet took no notice.
Gradually, the lava built up the floor of the sea around its chimneys. It was good, but too slow.
Heaving and squeezing, Petaybee pushed magma and gas up through the center of the elevated sea bottom. Once the pressure built up, it would blow a hole big enough to gush rivers of lava out into the sea. It would build up and up and up until it rose above the waves, then begin spreading out until it was a new place, a new home. Though it would be hot and hazardous at first, the seawater and air would cool it until it too was a warm place for life to flourish.
Though volcanoes had created landmasses on Petaybee shortly after terraforming, it had happened very quickly, while the planet was barely awake. This new volcano, this new island, was a conscious effort, Petaybee’s greatest work to date. But work it was, a lot of work. As birthing mothers everywhere knew very well, the process of bringing life into the world was called “labor” for a reason.
CHAPTER 1
THE SHONGILI TWINS gave almost simultaneous burps of repletion—the boy on his mother’s shoulder and the girl on her father’s—and were carefully laid on their backs on their fur-lined cots. Sean and Yanaba made no move to leave the nursery, unable to leave the sight of their offspring, safely delivered just a few hours earlier. The babies looked up at their parents, their dark pewter eyes as brightly focused as those of any bird. Each already wore a soft crown of deep brown downy hair, b
ut Yana would have been hard pressed to decide whose nose or cheeks they had. Everything was still rounded and squashy, unformed and utterly adorable.
Even their contented gurgles sounded for all the world like the chortle of a small and active brook swirling among stones.
“Listen to them,” Yana said fondly. “They sound as if they’re laughing.” Then, “I thought it took longer than that for babies to do things like laugh.”
Sean shrugged. “Babies who are always and entirely human perhaps. But a selkie’s development is a bit different. Faster in some ways. I don’t recall when exactly I developed what, but I do recall being aware of my surroundings almost at once. But as to the details, well, too bad my parents aren’t still around to advise us.”
But Yana, lost in wonder at the perfection of her children, answered him only with a dreamy glance. “It’s almost too much joy for one person to bear,” she murmured, feeling tears come to her eyes.
Sean took her in his arms. “Then let’s share it. I smell food, and you’re still feeding two—one at a time.” He gave her a hug and a cuddle and, one arm draped on her shoulders, propelled her gently toward the door of the cube they had hastily attached to one side of the cabin to serve as a nursery. It was spare and spartan except for the furred cots, for it was the custom in Kilcoole to refrain from giving expecting parents items for their unborn children. A superstition really, but since Yana, before conceiving, had thought herself well past childbearing age, it seemed wise to encourage every sort of good luck.
As Sean opened the door, Nanook, his black-and-white track cat, and Coaxtl, his niece Aoifa’s snow leopard, slid into the nursery. Nanook took a place under the boy’s cot, while Coaxtl, after one long look at her charge, flopped beside the girl’s.
“The sentries are on the job,” Sean said, and continued to push his wife to the door.
“I just never thought I’d have children,” Yana said, looking back over her shoulder at her twins even as Sean closed the door behind her. He left it slightly ajar so they could hear the babies if they cried out or if one of the cats needed to go out or get their attention.
No smells had been able to penetrate the cube from the main part of the house, Yana’s old one-room cabin. Now, however, delicious odors of pepper and snow onions, roasting fish and unidentifiable savory spices, wafted from the stove. Over it stood the substantial and comforting bulk of Clodagh, the village’s shanachie, singer of songs, bearer of culture, rememberer of history, settler of disputes, healer of wounds, and dispenser of medicines. She had also served as Yana’s midwife.
“It’s about time,” Clodagh said, closing the lid of the pot she had been seasoning. “I thought you’d never think of yourselves. Now, sit and eat. And Yana, use that longie thing,” as she pointed a ladle at a chaise longue that had recently made its appearance in their home. There was no proscription against giving an expectant mother a gift for herself. The chaise, which took up a good half of the wall next to the woodstove, had seemed too large and in the way before, but now Yana found it inviting. “Get your feet up and relax. As much as you can, that is,” she added in an affectionately derisive tone.
Major Yanaba Maddock-Shongili was quite willing to assume the seat and stretch her legs. Her overtaxed muscles carried her that far mostly because of Sean’s support. He rearranged her feet a trifle and sat on the end, folding his arms over his chest and giving a sigh.
“Don’t you dare look at your desk,” Yana said sternly.
“Even from here I can see the pile of orange flimsies, and they mean urgent.”
“Nothing is so urgent as feeding the pair of you up,” Clodagh said staunchly, “and there really isn’t anything that damned pressing that someone else can’t handle or defer—preferably until next year.”
“But those hydroelectric engineers were supposed to touch down today . . . and you know how eagerly Sister Igneous Rock is awaiting them.” Sean referred to the planet’s geological expert and its self-proclaimed acolyte. The woman and her fellow would-be Petaybean cult followers had surprised Petaybee’s longer-term residents by turning out to be quite useful once they discovered they could be of more service to Petaybee practicing their hard-science specialties instead of their misguided attempts at theology.
“Iggierock has ’em and she’s dealing with them.” Clodagh gave a deep chuckle. “She’s near as good as I am . . . at some things. But this stew will give you much-needed energy. And we’ve more urgent matters to consider, such as the babies’ naming song and the latchkay. I’m thinking that tomorrow will be none too soon, if Yana can make it back to the lodge and the communion cave to properly introduce your young by name to their people and their world.”
“She can and she will, if I must carry her,” Sean said fondly.
“I can handle it,” Yana said. Fortunately, those aching muscles of hers were well toned and trained from her years in the Company Corps. “It’s the babies we’ll need to be carrying.”
“Good,” Clodagh said. “All of Kilcoole has been waiting for these young ones, but there’s a time and place for their gawking and well-wishing and filling your house up with doodads for the babbies. The sooner the better, though. Have you thought of what you’ll call them at all?”
She dished up three huge bowls of her concoction, and after serving the new parents, she pulled up one of the new spare chairs to the new huge kitchen table they’d been given by friends who evidently thought they were going to have dozens of children instead of just two. Clodagh passed rolls just out of the oven, and steaming through the white napkin she had covered them with.
Yana chewed quickly but deliberately, thinking hard. “Of course we’ve thought about it, but now that they’re here, no name seems special enough. Among my mother’s ancestors, you know, babies weren’t named right away. High infant mortality rate was one reason, but also, her people believed a child didn’t get its soul until the first time it laughed.”
She and Sean looked at each other over their full spoons and smiled. “Which they’ve already done, and them only a few hours old,” Sean said. “I can tell they’re going to be quick, but then, it’s well-known that all of the children born to my side of the family are very precocious.”
Yana made a face at him. “Oh, in my family too, but our babies are also taught to be modest.”
“You two are too giddy by half!” Clodagh mock-scolded, shaking her spoon at them. “Naming is a serious business. It should fit the baby’s bloodlines—perhaps we could have names from your mother’s people, Yana. There’d be a bit of novelty. It should also tell the world what the child is all about.”
“This world knows what the children are about,” Yana said. “It’s responsible for their selkie nature, after all—well, it and their father,” she added with a roll of her dark eyes at her husband. “And how advisable it is to tell the rest of the universe about that is debatable.”
“No debate about it,” Sean said in a tone that brooked no argument. “The universe at large does not need to know that our children mutate into seals when they submerge themselves in water any more than it needs to know that the kids inherited that trait from me.”
“Well, the names don’t need to come right out and say, ‘I’m a selkie,’ ” Clodagh said. “But they should, for instance, indicate that these children have an affinity for water.”
“Born for Water,” Yana said with a swallow of soup.
“What?”
She gestured with a piece of roll. “I’m just thinking perhaps we should call them after the Hero Twins my mother’s ancestors revered, Born for Water and Monster Slayer. Except at the moment they both seem to be Born for Water and it isn’t yet clear who would be Monster Slayer.”
“My money is on the wee lassie,” Sean said. “She’s got something of the look of you in the glint in her eyes and the set of her chin.”
“She’s barely got a chin,” Yana said, shaking her head. “No, I think we’ll have to go with the Irish side of my family this time. He
re in Kilcoole where you’re all Irish and Inuit, they’ll blend in better with the other children that way anyway. Besides, among the Diné—my mother’s people—girls all have war names like mine, and war is the last thing I want my daughter named for. Water’s a bit difficult too. The sacred land of Mother’s people had very little rain, or standing water either, and so they were extremely short even on fish, not to mention seals and selkies.”
She stopped with her spoon halfway to her mouth. “I just had a thought. Will the babies be transforming every time they get into water? Any water? If so, I’m going to have a fine old time trying to bathe them and it won’t be easy keeping their nature a family secret.”
“I used to have the same problem,” Sean grinned. “Until I taught myself not to fur up the moment a drop touched me. But I had no da to show me the way, and they do. Meanwhile, if you need help with the family secret, well, we’ve plenty of family here who know all about it. They’ll help. And the four-foots will watch to make sure no outsiders come close enough to learn more than they should.”
“You say that, Sean,” Clodagh said, speaking quietly into her soup bowl, “but there are outsiders who’ve seen you change, and one of them may take it upon himself to wonder if the twins inherited the ability and need studying.” She looked up, her moss green eyes fathomless and deep as one of Petaybee’s many artesian springs, seeming troubled. She hated bringing up such worries on what should be a flawlessly happy day. “You know how much scrutiny this planet is under.”
“Well, how the hell could they possibly interfere with my family peculiarity when Yana and I have the final say as governors of this planet?” Sean asked.
Clodagh shrugged.
“As long as the four-foots are their guards, no one will get near them,” Yana said with far more conviction than she felt. “And Nanook and Coaxtl will keep them from being seen, won’t they?” A nervous tic started in her cheek. She rubbed it. “Will the cats follow them into the water?”
“Yes,” Sean said positively. “If the little ones elude them long enough to get near water, Nanook and Coaxtl would follow them into the mouth of a volcano if necessary. The cats do converse. We just have to make it plain to them how dangerous it would be for the kids to be caught half in, half out. Like I was.”
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