Years before, a dead peshahad washed up on a beach in Tulwar. They’d all gone to see it: this deep-sea animal their kin had hunted before the Drowning. It had been the size of a large woman, with four flippers and a tail that looked like seaweed, lying limp on the pebbles. The old men of Tulwar cut it up. Most of the women went back to work, but Haik stayed and watched. The flesh had been reddish-purple, like the flesh of land animals; the bones of the skeleton had been large and heavy. As for the famous skin, she’d felt it. Not slimy, like a fish, and with no scales, though there were scaleless fish. She knew that much, though her kin no longer went to sea.
Most interesting of all were the flippers. She begged a hind one from the old men. It was small, the hide not usable, with almost no flesh on the bones. "Take it," her senior male relatives told her. "Though nothing good is likely to come from your curiosity."
Haik carried it to her teacher’s house, into a back room that Rakai never entered. Her fossils were there, along with other objects: a bird skeleton, almost complete; the skulls of various small animals; and shells from Tulwar’s beaches. Laying the flipper on a table, she used a sharp knife to cut it open. Inside, hidden by blue skin and reddish-purple flesh, were five rows of long, narrow, white bones.
She had cleaned them and arranged them on the table as she’d found them in the flipper. The two outer rows were short, the thumb–could she call it that?–barely present, while the three middle rows were long and curved. Clearly, they provided a framework for the flipper. What purpose did the outer rows serve, and why had the Goddess hidden a hand inside a sea animal’s flipper?
"Well," said Dapple after Haik told this story. "What’s the answer to your question?"
"I don’t know," said Haik, afraid to talk about her theories. What did she know for certain? A group of puzzling facts. From these she had derived a terrifying sense of time and change. Did she have the right to frighten other people, as she had been frightened?
Beside them, a peshasurfaced and exhaled, rolling sideways to eye them and grin with sharp white teeth.
"Rakai told me the world is full of similarities and correspondences. The Goddess is a repeater. That’s what they always told me."
"And a jokester," said Dapple. "Maybe she thought it would be funny to make something that was a fish in some ways and a land animal in others."
"Maybe," Haik said in a doubtful tone. "I tanned the flipper hide and made a bag from it, but couldn’t use the bag. It seemed dishonorable and wrong, as if I was using the skin from a woman’s hand to keep things in. So I put the peshabones in the bag and kept them on one of my shelves; and I made a pot decorated with peshadi. It was a failure. I didn’t know how living peshadimoved. Now, I will be able to make the pot again."
Dapple ruffled the red fur on her shoulder. "Like fire," the actor said gently. "You burn with curiosity and a desire to get things right."
"My relatives say it will get me in trouble."
"The Goddess gave us the ability to imagine and question and judge," the actor said. "Why would she have done this, if she did not intend us to use these abilities? I question the behavior of people; you question rocks and bones. Both activities seem chulmarto me."
Then as now, chulmarmeant to be pious and to be funny. Dapple’s voice sounded amused to Haik; this made her uneasy. In Tulwar, after the Drowning, piety took the form of glumness, though the people there certainly knew the meaning of chulmar. They did not mean to turn their children away from enjoyment of the world, but so much had been lost; they had become afraid; and fear is the end of piety.
The ship continued south, till it was far past the Tulwar coast. During this period, Haik was preoccupied with love. Hah! It had struck her like a strong blow in battle! She could think of little except Dapple’s body: the four breasts, surprisingly large for a woman who’d never borne children; the rangy limbs; the prominent nipples, the same color as the "far-down dark grey" strata at home; and the place between the actor’s legs, which was a cave of pleasure. Haik could model a breast in clay, make a covered pot of it, with a nipple for the handle. But how could she replicate the hidden place? Or Dapple’s mouth with its golden tongue? It could not be done, especially now, with her kiln far behind her. Better not to think of pottery.
They made love often, usually on deck, under blazing tropic stars. She was drunk with love! Love had made her crazy, and she did not care!
Five days south of Tsugul Island, the ship turned west. They came to the wide harbor at Hu, guarded by white shoals. The peshadiwere gone by then; the birds had become more numerous. A low green coast emerged from misty rain.
Haik and Dapple were on deck. Peering forward, Haik made out the buildings of Hu Town: white and blue, with red or green roofs. Fishing boats lined the harbor docks. Their furled sails were red, white, green, and yellow. "A colorful country."
"That’s the south," said Dapple in agreement. As lovely as always, the actor was leaning on the ship’s rail, looking happy. "People in the north call these folk barbarians, who lack refinement and a sense of nuance. But drama is not made of nuance." She raised an arm and brought it down. "It’s the sword blade descending, the cry of understanding and anger and pain. I could not write the plays I write, if I didn’t visit the south."
They tied up among the fishing boats, empty in mid-afternoon. The acting company went on shore, Tulwar Haik among them. She had never been this far south. The people in the streets, dressed in bright tunics and kilts, were an unfamiliar physical type: broad chested, with short thick limbs. The women were taller than women in the north, towering a full head above their male relatives. Everyone had grey fur, and Haik got many sideways glances.
"I could lose you," said Dapple with amusement.
"They’re ugly," said Haik.
"They are different, dear one. When you get used to them, they will begin to look handsome."
"Have you had lovers here?"
Dapple laughed. "Many."
Their destination was an inn built around a courtyard. There were potted trees in the courtyard: skyflower and starflower and a kind Haik did not recognize, which had silver-blue leaves and frilly, bright yellow flowers. Several of the pots had been made by Rakai; one had been made by her, an early work, not bad in its way. She pointed it out to Dapple.
The innkeeper appeared, a huge woman with arms like tree limbs and four enormous breasts, barely concealed by a vest. "My favorite customer!" she cried. "Are you going to perform?"
"Most likely, yes. Haik, this is Hu Aptsi." Dapple laid a hand on Haik’s red shoulder. "And this beauty is my new lover, Tulwar Haik the potter. She has given up her pots to travel with me, until we tire of each other."
"Never!" said Haik.
"Excellent work you do in Tulwar," the innkeeper said. "I have neighbors who say nothing good comes from the north. Dapple and pots and flowering trees, I say."
They went into the common room and settled around tables. A round clay hearth bulged out of one wall. Logs burned in it. The innkeeper brought a large metal bowl, filling it with fruit juices and halin,then heated an iron rod in the fire and put the glowing tip in the full bowl. The liquid hissed and steamed. The innkeeper served. Haik wrapped her hands around a hot cup, sniffing the aromatic steam, thinking, I am far from home, among strangers, about to drink something for which I have no name. She tasted the liquid. Delicious!
"It will make you drunk quickly," said Dapple in a warning tone.
Beyond the room’s windows, rain fell in the courtyard, and the potted trees quivered. I am happy,Haik thought.
That night, as she lay in Dapple’s arms, she had a dream. The old woman came to her again, this time with clean hands and feet. "Existence is made to be enjoyed. Always remember that."
"Why did you kill my mother and my other relatives?" Haik asked.
"A storm killed them. Do you think every gust of wind is my breath? Do you think it’s my hand that crushes every bug and pulls every bird from the sky?"
"Why did you
make things that die?"
"Why do you work in clay? Sooner or later, all your pots will break."
"I like the material."
"I like life," the Goddess said. "And change."
The next day, Haik helped the actors set up their stage in a warehouse near the docks. Rain still fell. They would not be able to perform outside. The acting company was large: ten women, all from northern towns. Five were full members of the company. Three were apprentices. One was a carpenter; one made the costumes; though both of these last could fill small parts when needed. They all worked together easily. It was Haik who was awkward and needed to be told what to do. "You will learn," said Dapple.
Midway through the morning, she disappeared. "Off to write," said the carpenter. "I could see her thinking. These southerners like rude plays, and that isn’t the kind of thing we usually do, except when we’re down here. You’d think they’d like hero plays; they have plenty of real heroes among them. But no, they want comedy with lots of penises."
Haik could think of nothing to say.
They ate their evening meal in the inn, a light one, since acting should never be done on a full stomach. Then they went back to the warehouse, through still-falling rain. There were lamps on the walls around the stage. The wide, dark space beyond the lamplight was full of people. The air stank of oil, damp fur, and excitement.
"We know our business," said Dapple. "You keep off to the side and watch."
Haik did as told, leaning against a side wall, below a lamp that cast a yellow, flickering glow. Because she rarely thought about her appearance, she did not realize how she looked, her red fur and green eyes shining. Half the women in the audience wanted to have sex with her; half the men wished she were male. How could a woman of her age be so naïve? By thinking too much and living too long in the glum family Tulwar became after the Drowning.
The play was about a sulwith an enormous penis. Dapple played him in an animal mask. The penis, of which he was so proud, was longer than she was and limp, so it dragged on the ground. The sultripped over it often, while he bragged about his masculine power and the lovers he’d had, all men of extraordinary beauty and talent. Once he was established as an irritating braggart, a tliappeared, played by the company’s second actor. The two animals got into a betting contest, and the tliwon the sul’s penis, which struck the audience as funny. Getting it off was a problem, which struck the audience as even funnier. Finally, the sulstormed off, bereft of his male member and vowing revenge.
Now the tlidelivered a soliloquy, while holding the huge limp object. Fine to win, the tlisaid, but he had no use for a penis this large. His own was adequate for his purposes; and the sulwould come back with friends and weapons to reclaim the penis. This was the problem with giving in to irritation. What was he to do? How could he escape the vengeance of the sul?
At this point, Dapple reappeared, wearing a sleek blue mask, the open mouth full of sharp white teeth. She was a pesha,she announced, an early version of this species. She lived in shallow water, paddling and catching fish. She wanted to move into the ocean, but her tail was too small; she needed a new one, able to drive her deep into the water or far out over the waves.
"I have just the thing," said the tli,and showed her the sul’s penis. "We’ll sew this on your backside, and you’ll swim like a fish. But in return for this gift, you must carry me to safety; and once you are able to dive deeply, I wouldn’t mind having some of the treasure that’s sunk in the ocean."
The peshaagreed, and the two animals attached the penis to the back of Dapple’s costume. Then she did a dance of happiness, singing praise of the ocean and her new life.
The other actors joined them with blue and white banners, which mimicked the motion of water, through which Dapple and the tliescaped, dancing and singing.
When everyone was gone, and the stage was bare, Dapple returned as the sul,along with two more sulin. "Foiled!" they cried. "We can’t follow. Your penis is assuredly gone, dear relative. You are not going to be socially popular in the future."
That was the end of the play, except for a final dance, done by the tli,surrounded by the rest of the cast, waving golden banners. These represented the treasure he had gained. As for the grateful pesha,she was happy in her new home, and with luck the penis would not retain any of its old qualities.
The audience stamped their feet and made hooting noises. Clearly, the play had gone over well.
Haik thought, yes, she was certain that things could turn into other things. But not, in all likelihood, a penis into a tail. And change was not a result of trickery, but time.
People came to talk with the main actors. Haik helped the carpenter and costume maker clean up.
"Ettin Taiin," said the carpenter. "I didn’t know he was in town."
"Who?" asked Haik, putting the tlimask in a box.
"The lame man."
She looked around and saw a short fellow limping toward the stage. His fur was grey, turning silver over the shoulders and on the face. One eye was missing; he didn’t bother to wear a patch over the empty socket.
"He is the foremost war captain among the Ettin," the carpenter said. "And they are the most dangerous lineage in this part of the world. Dapple calls his mother ‘great-aunt.’ If you find him scary, as I do, then you ought to meet the old lady!"
There was no way for him to reach Dapple, surrounded by admirers. He greeted the carpenter and the costume maker by name, without glancing at them directly. Good manners, thought Haik.
"Is Cholkwa with you?" asked the costume maker.
"South, among the savages of the Cold Ocean Coast. I sent men with him for protection, in case the savages didn’t like his comedies. May I ask about your companion, or is that rude?"
"We can hardly object to rudeness, after the play we’ve done," said the carpenter.
"I laughed so hard I thought I would lose control of my bladder," said the one-eyed man.
The costume maker said, "This is Tulwar Haik the potter. She’s Dapple’s new lover."
The man lifted his head, apparently in surprise. Haik got a glimpse of his sunken eye socket and the remaining eye, which blazed blue as a noon sky. His pupil had expanded in the dim light and lay across the eye like an iron bar. "The Potter of Strange Animals," he said.
"Yes," said Haik, surprised to be known in this distant place.
"The world is full of coincidences!" the soldier told her. "And this one is pleasant! I bought one of your pots for my mother last year. She can barely see these days, but she likes the texture of it. She especially likes to feel the animals you have used for handles. Birds with clawed hands! What an idea! How can they possibly fly?"
"I don’t think they did–or do," said Haik.
"These birds exist?" asked the soldier.
Haik paused, considering. "I have found their remains."
"You don’t say. The world is full of two things, then: coincidence and strangeness. Considering the Goddess, this can’t be called surprising." He glanced toward Dapple. Most of the admirers had gone. "Excuse me. I want to give her news of Cholkwa. They just missed each other. His ship left two days ago; and I was planning to ride home, having stayed with him till the last ikun. But then I heard that Dapple had arrived."
He limped away.
"He and Cholkwa are lovers," said the carpenter. "Though the true love of Cholkwa’s life is the actor Perig. Perig’s old now and in poor health. He lives on Helwar Island with Dapple’s kin, who are my kin also, while Cholkwa still travels. Male actors are as promiscuous as women."
Haik finished putting away the masks. The peshamask was new, she realized. The blue paint was still tacky, and the shape of the head had been changed, using cloth and glue.
"We keep blank masks," said the carpenter. "Then, when Dapple has a sudden idea, we can add new animals."
"This is something I can do," Haik said. "Shape the masks and paint them." She glanced up at the carpenter and the costume maker. "Unless the work belongs to you."
<
br /> "We all do many things," said the costume maker. "If you stay with us you’ll find yourself on stage."
When everything was packed up, they went back to the inn, sat in the common room and drank halin. The Ettin captain, who came with them, had an immense capacity. He left from time to time to urinate, but never got noticeably drunk. The idea of coincidence was stuck in his mind, and he talked about how it worked in war, sometimes to his benefit, sometimes against him.
There was the time he went to attack the Gwa and met their warband on the way, coming to attack Ettin. "We both picked the same exact route. So there we were in a mountain pass, staring at each other with mouths open. Then we fought." He spilled halinon the table and drew the disposition of troops. "A bad situation for both of us! Neither had an advantage, and neither had a good way to retreat. I knew I had to win and did, though I lost an eye and a brother; and enough Gwa soldiers escaped, so we could not surprise them at home. A nasty experience, caused by coincidence. Doubtless the Goddess does this to us so we won’t take our plans too seriously; a good captain must always be ready to throw his ideas away."
When he finally left, walking steadily except for his limp, Dapple said, "I have sworn to myself, I will put him in a play some day. That is what a hero is really like. I’ll have to make up a new story, of course. His life has not been tragic. He’s never had to make difficult choices, and everything he’s wanted–fame, the affection of his relatives, the love of Cholkwa–has come into his hands."
Well, thought Haik, she was certainly learning new things. The man had not seemed like a hero to her.
The next evening, they did the play a second time. The warehouse was packed, and Ettin Taiin was in the audience again. Haik watched him as he watched the play, his expression intent. Now and then, he laughed, showing white teeth. One was missing, an upper stabber. Doubtless it had been lost in battle, like his eye and his leg’s agility. Haik’s male relatives fought nothing except the forest predators, which were not especially dangerous. When men died in the forest, it was usually from small creatures that had a poisonous bite or sting; or they died from accidents. Old people told stories about pirates, but none had attacked the northeast coast in more than a generation. The Tulwar feared water and storms.
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