by Ken Liu
The great fish, finally noticing the girl, glared at her menacingly.
Aya spread out her arms and legs to look as large as possible and wiggled her limbs in a languid imitation of a star squid, the marlin’s favorite food.
That got the marlin’s interest. Though the marlin wasn’t sure why this squid was missing a few limbs and smelled so strange, it still seemed like a good meal. With a few powerful strokes from its sail-like tail, it headed straight for Aya.
Aya’s heart pounded against her ribcage. She forced herself to remain calm and stayed where she was, treading water as if the deadly triple spears weren’t aimed at her and closing in.
The marlin, intent on Aya, didn’t notice as its head poked through the translucent silk noose. But the moment its spears had cleared the trap, Aya burst into motion. With a hard pull from her left hand, she tightened the noose around the fish’s head, and then, with a series of quick kicks, she darted away like a silver eel.
Even though Aya’s lungs were now close to bursting, she dove deeper instead of heading for the surface. The other end of the silk line was attached to Deek-Deek, who had surfaced but wouldn’t be able to take off yet. The only way to secure the fish was to get it to ensnare itself more.
Although Aya was a skilled swimmer, the marlin, born into that aquatic realm, was much faster than the girl. Aya kicked and stroked as she never had before, willing every ounce of strength into her limbs. Still, the distance between them quickly closed, and it seemed only seconds before the marlin would impale its prey.
The spears were so close that Aya could feel their bow waves through the water. She closed her eyes and prayed that the Tide would take her without much pain.
The marlin jerked to a sudden stop as its tail flopped past its head. It twisted angrily, snapping this way and that, flapping its fins and thrashing. But no matter how hard it tried, it couldn’t move a centimeter closer to the girl. The almost-invisible silk line held it in place as the slack between the fish and the wind-truster ran out.
Only now did Aya reverse direction to swim up. She burst through the surface and filled her lungs with gulps of fresh air. Deek-Deek, straining against the thrashing fish at the other end of the line tied to her bamboo saddle, squawked and paddled her feet furiously in the water to hold her place.
“Nice work!” Aya shouted. The wind-truster lifted a wing and oiled the flight feathers with the bottom of her bill as if to say, Nothing to it.
Smiling, Aya dove back under. Now that the fish had been caught, she had to kill it quickly to lessen its suffering. She approached the thrashing fish from behind and, with two deft strokes, slid her basher shark–tooth spear through the gill slits. The fish’s movements slackened.
Silently thanking the fish for giving up its body to her and her people, Aya headed back to the surface.
An hour later.
Half the sky to the east was filled with layers of heavy clouds the color of spewing volcanic ash. From time to time, lightning flashed through the dark billowing masses, like novas in the abyss of space.
Aya gazed into the still-clear western sky, hoping to see signs of help. She knew she had to make a decision soon—probably should have already made it—but she just couldn’t let the biggest prize of her life go.
Tonn had also caught a fish, a fifteen-kilogram porthomer eel. He readily conceded that Aya had won the bet. The giant marlin that bobbed on the surface was too heavy for even two wind-trusters to carry home. So Tonn had flown back to Ulon Atur with Coni-Co to get help while Aya and Deek-Deek stayed behind to keep watch over the prize.
What they hadn’t counted on was how fast the storm swept in.
The swelling waves buffeting Deek-Deek’s sides were more than a meter high. The wind-truster twisted her neck to look at Aya and cried plaintively. Aya had never seen her mount so frightened.
Aya felt alone. Between the unfeeling sea and the eternal sky, she and Deek-Deek were but tiny sparks that could be snuffed out in a single moment. She shuddered—the Tide, instead of being a comforting presence, felt cold and alien.
Trust in the Tide, and do what must be done.
Deep breaths calmed her a little. She had to immerse herself in the Tide again and find her course.
Her gaze shifted back and forth between the bobbing silver marlin and the storm clouds. She bit her bottom lip and made up her mind.
She leapt into the sea and swam to the marlin with a few quick strokes. As Deek-Deek watched, Aya pulled out her basher shark–tooth spear. Holding it near the tip like a scalpel to give herself more control, she hacked at the base of the marlin’s horn and tusks.
A few minutes later, as the marlin’s carcass drifted away with the waves, she swam back to the wind-truster with her trophies. She couldn’t help mourning the loss of such a great fish, but she told herself that in the grand cycles of the Tide, nothing would be wasted. The marlin’s flesh would feed many scavenging fish and eels, and whatever wasn’t consumed would sink to the lightless bottom of the ocean, where it would provide a rich trove of nourishment for the milk-white worms and blind crabs that skittered across the abyss.
She took off her wet tunic and wrapped it around the three long spears to cushion the terrifying saw teeth, then she tied the bundle to one of Deek-Deek’s ankles. Huge drops of rain began to fall, and the wind was whipping the ocean into a frenzy.
“Let’s get out of here,” she said resolutely to the wind-truster, and gently dug her heels into the bird’s flanks.
The wind-truster extended her four wings and paddled across the choppy waves until she lifted out of the water, her feet slapping against the surface. A minute later, they were airborne and steadily gaining altitude. As the rain fell heavier, swirling winds buffeted the bird, pushing, lifting, jolting, pummeling.
Far ahead, where the sky was still clear, Aya could see a few tiny X-shaped figures etched against the blue heavens. Aya’s heart lifted. It was Tonn and their friends, coming to help.
But Aya had waited too long, and the racing storm soon overtook the girl and her wind-truster. Powerful gusts and crosscurrents tossed Deek-Deek this way and that, and the bird cried out in terror. The rain intensified, surrounding the pair in sheets of water that looked the same in every direction. Soon they could no longer tell which way was east or west, and bright flashes of lightning overhead confused things even further. A giant peal of thunder startled Deek-Deek and made the bird flail about in panic, and Aya, soaked through by the freezing rain, hung on to her mount’s neck for dear life, unable to offer any useful guidance.
Trust in the Tide, and do what must be done.
But the Tide offered no warm embrace, no illuminated path out. She reached out with her mind, but all she could find was the same tumultuous confusion, the same cold indifference, the same dispassionate marshaling of grand forces that cared not for the fate of an individual girl or bird. The Tide felt just like the chaotic storm around her.
She shielded her eyes with a hand and peeked through the cracks between her fingers. All sense of direction was lost—even up and down were meaningless. The wind-truster was a stringless kite in the tempest, unable to find her heading. Aya’s scalp tingled, as if she were being stung by jellyfish, before a bolt of lightning sizzled past her, deafening both her and Deek-Deek with the accompanying discharge of thunder.
Terror filled Aya’s mind. She was never going to see Tonn’s confident smile again, hear Grandmother’s comforting voice, taste the peppery tang of fermented doco nut juice, smell the fresh, leafy scent of spring bamboo groves, or feel the warm downy heads of wind-truster hatchlings nuzzling against her palms.
She was going to die, and there was no hope of rescue, of going home. She cried out for the Tide to end her suffering as quickly as possible so she could merge into it. Darkness filled her sight as the storm blotted out every ray of sunlight.
Suddenly, the world brightened with the radiance of the sun leaping out of the sea. And with a loud thunderous boom, a bolt of lightning s
truck Deek-Deek, whose scream was instantly cut off. Aya felt herself separating from her mount and drifting through the air, weightless and powerless. When she forced her eyes open, she saw the torn body of her wind-truster some distance away, tumbling lifelessly through the air.
Her senses had been overwhelmed. She understood, intellectually, that lightning had killed her mount and that she was going to follow soon. But it all felt so unreal that she was too shocked to be afraid.
And then, an impossible sight: a giant bird with white-glowing X-shaped wings, five red streaks on each, was swooping out of the storm for her.
Is this how the Tide welcomes those new to it? With spiritual wind-trusters?
She closed her eyes and lost consciousness.
Aya made the wings of the funerary figurine out of four clam shells, which she tied to a torso she carved out of a piece of coral. She buried the small wind-truster figurine in the sand and then placed a conch shell stuffed with fermented porthomer eel roe, Deek-Deek’s favorite treat, over it.
“Sleep well, my friend.”
The sun was bright and the air warm. The storm that had taken the life of her wind-truster seemed a bad dream. But it was, of course, not a dream at all.
She cried until she had no more tears. That was how she knew the Tide wanted her to move on. Even grief had to ebb. She got up and walked back to the village.
The metal bird that had rescued her stood in the clearing in the middle of the huts, its X-shaped wings neatly folded flat. The blue-and-silver dome that was its brain spun and whistled atop its head. And the bird’s rider, an off-worlder, stood under its left wings, chatting with Elder Kailla-Glon-Vow.
“We’re not ungrateful for what you’ve done,” Elder Kailla said. “Rescuing my granddaughter from that storm was…I have no words for what I feel. But what you’re asking is simply impossible. There must be another way for us to thank you.”
“You misunderstand,” the stranger said. He looked at Aya, who had just walked into the clearing, and smiled at her. Aya smiled back shyly. “I happened to be in the right place at the right time. I demand no payment for rescuing Aya. I came to Lew’el to study with you because of the ancient stories I’ve heard concerning your…magic.”
“Stories are often untrue,” said Elder Kailla. “Especially if they speak of magic.”
“People often call what they don’t understand magic,” said the stranger. “That is why we must never stop learning.” There was a power to his voice that seemed to make the very air tingle with possibilities.
“He feels the Tide,” whispered Tonn, who had joined his sister.
Aya nodded. She could sense the man reaching out with his mind, almost unconsciously caressing the swaying dune grass and dowsing trees.
Elder Kailla spoke slowly and deliberately, “A desire to learn is commendable, but it isn’t enough. There must also be a desire to teach.”
“I hope to find that desire here.” The man’s tone was equally calm and deliberate.
Elder Kailla and the man stared at each other, and although neither moved, there was no mistaking the tension between the two. Tonn and Aya held their breaths.
“You will try to change our minds, then,” said the elder, her voice stiff and formal. The air seemed to grow chill around her.
“Grandmother!” Aya could no longer remain silent. “He doesn’t mean—”
Elder Kailla held out a hand and silenced her granddaughter. The elder glared at the stranger and crouched forward, as if preparing to bear up a great burden.
But the stranger shook his head. “A wise teacher once told me, ‘Do. Or do not. There is no try.’ You will teach me, or you will not.”
Elder Kailla relaxed. “Your teacher is wise. And I see that you don’t intend to compel obedience, though your facility with the Tide is considerable.”
“I have traveled the galaxy far and wide, seeking out those who are sensitive to the…Tide and understand its ways. I’m interested in knowledge: freely given and freely received.”
“I don’t think you know the Tide by that name, Seeker.”
“There are a thousand names for the truth,” said the man Elder Kailla called Seeker. “It doesn’t matter what we call it, only that it is true.”
Elder Kailla puffed out her cheeks and released a long breath. “You can stay for the celebratory feast tonight, at which you are the guest of honor. In the morning you will leave.”
Seeker, showing no signs of surprise or inclination to argue, nodded. “Thank you.”
“That’s it?” muttered Tonn. “At least keep him around for a few days in case he has good stories.”
Elder Kailla glared at him. “You heard him. ‘Do. Or do not.’ I choose ‘Do not.’”
Seeker smiled at both Tonn and Aya. “I will definitely tell you some stories.”
“The Jedi were guardians of the galaxy,” said Seeker. His face flickered in the shadows cast by the roaring bonfire, around which the villagers danced and sang. “For more than a thousand years, they wielded the Force to preserve peace. They were beloved by those who loved justice and feared by those who served evil.”
“What is the Force like?” asked Aya, fascinated.
“It’s an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us; it binds the galaxy together.”
“Sounds like the Tide,” said Aya. “Grandmother says it’s a web that connects the brightest stars in the sky to the smallest shrimp at the bottom of the sea. Its ebb and flow are the breath of the universe, and its rise and fall are the heartbeat of Life itself—”
“Aya! Remember what Grandmother said,” chided Tonn.
Aya stuck out her tongue at him. But she did stop. She tried to change the topic. “What is the galaxy like? Is it fun?”
“It’s very large,” said Seeker. “There are some fun parts and some not-so-fun parts.”
“Tell me about some of the places you’ve been.”
“All right, but let me eat something first.”
Seeker thanked the villager who stopped by to hand him a large platter of baked clams and roasted squid tentacles. He ate heartily from the platter and drank fermented juice from a doco nut shell.
He watched the villagers wave thick blankets woven from doco nut fibers over the bonfire as they chanted, breaking the smoke from the fire into distinct, rising rings. It was a dance coupled with a message, a long prayer to the Tide’s eternal rhythm.
Then Seeker spoke to the children about asteroid belts in which giant space slugs lurked, about desert planets where outlaws and smugglers gathered in seedy cantinas, about jungle worlds where ancient ruins from long-lost civilizations decayed, about planets where the entire surface was covered by buildings and filled with billions of sentient beings from every known species, about the beauty and desolation of jumping through hyperspace to travel from one world to another, like a tickling frog hopping from floating leaf pad to floating leaf pad.
When Seeker finally stopped, Tonn looked at him skeptically. “I don’t know how much of what you’re saying is real. These stories sound like dreams.”
But Aya sighed. “They sound amazing. I’d like to see the rest of the galaxy. Nothing ever happens around here.”
Seeker chuckled. “I can understand how you feel. What would you like to do out there?”
“I don’t know,” said Aya. “Maybe fly a metal bird, like you.”
“You’d make a good pilot. I hear that you’re an excellent bird rider.”
Aya was pleased. But then she remembered Deek-Deek and grief dampened her pride. “A rider is only as good as her mount.”
Seeker nodded. “A wise sentiment. There must be trust between the pilot and the mount.”
“How do you trust a machine?” asked Tonn and Aya together.
Before Seeker could answer, Elder Kailla approached them. “Children,” said the elder, “it’s time for you to leave our guest alone and go to bed.”
Reluctantly, Aya and Tonn said their good-by
es and ran off.
Elder Kailla sat down next to Seeker. They shared a doco nut bowl, passing it back and forth, sipping the sweet fermented juice.
“Our stories say that before your Empire, before your Old Republic, before there were even Jedi, our people came to this world for refuge,” said the elder without prompting.
Seeker took a sip from the bowl and said nothing.
The elder continued in a dreamy tone, as if speaking to herself more than to Seeker. “The Tide is a powerful force, and it can drown you as well as uplift you. Long before they came to Lew’el, our ancestors had learned how to ride the Tide. For a time they were the brightest stars in the galaxy, drawing the interest of those who loved power and sought my ancestors’ aid in their quest for more of it. Some of my ancestors succumbed to the temptation and believed that they could master a force that sustained the very fabric of existence; others believed that it was impossible as well as morally repugnant to try to turn the Tide, the ether that connects everything to everything else, into an instrument for domination. The war between them brought great suffering and devastated a thousand worlds before it finally burned out. The survivors came to Lew’el to hide, vowing never again to allow knowledge of the Tide to be used to pervert it.”
“You are afraid of the dark side of the Force,” Seeker said.
Elder Kailla shook her head. “We don’t think of the Tide in that way. The ebb and flow are phases of one Tide, not two opposed sides. To use the Tide is to pervert it.”
More villagers got up and went to bed. Only a few were left, still dancing and laughing and singing around the fire.
After a few minutes, Seeker broke the silence. “With hyperspace jumps, we can travel faster than light.” He pointed up at the starry sky. “The light you see from some of these stars took hundreds of years, even thousands, to reach here. What you see up there is not, in fact, a reflection of reality. Some of those stars have already moved far from the positions you see in the constellations.”
Elder Kailla chuckled. “You don’t need to speak to me in parables. The Tide connects everything in the universe in a single web so that great tremors are felt instantly across all strands. We are not ignorant of the reality in the wider galaxy.”