by Gloria Piper
“The evil water! It attacks her!”
“Loose it from you, Seagren!”
Seagren sat as the boat hove nearer. She felt the hulk presences grow stronger, herself grow weaker. Oarlocks creaked. Grunting assaulted toddler ears. She wanted to flee and could not.
“Loose it from you!” Father leapt from the boat, and it collided against the bank.
Mother shrieked as she tipped unsteadily. She flung herself onto the pile of rotzen.
Seagren sat paralyzed before the mountainous form that bore down with an oar, a predator after its prey.
The paddle nicked the watery sheath. Seagren felt it ooze away, felt the ionic force vanish. The film passed from her eyes. From a puddle of mud she gazed at her overshadowing father. Mother was clambering to the bank.
“Don’t let it happen again,” Father said.
“The water sucks your life,” Mother said.
“It’s an evil thing you’ve done.”
Seagren had discovered beauty, and it was wrong. Why? She could not ask. Their presence always sucked her breath. Once she had experienced Zest, she felt like one who had lived a few moments.
Now a different urge had drawn Seagren back to land, to possible captivity. What was it? Why wouldn’t it let her rest?
Chapter 4
Above, evening sun. Below, Seagren panting, after escaping harassment. How much longer before the sea appeared? Silly to have left it.
She wove slowly through rotzen to prevent stems from tangling her feet or waving and advertising her presence.
Ahead, a dike displayed several evenly spaced gates.
Open, that was normal. Illuminated, that was not normal. Wings of shadow spread between rays of light. Anyone keeping to shadow should be safe.
Seagren floated nearer and felt a humming.
Whack!
Something cracked her like a whip.
Semi-conscious, she floated to the surface. The hum ceased.
“We got her.”
“Give me a hand. Easy now. Onto the ground.”
Hands slapped and massaged a helpless body.
“She alive?”
“I can hear her heart. Just stunned, I think.”
Seagren nudged hair from her face. People all around. A bearded man stooped over her. “Fell right into our trap.”
“Good. I’ll take her.”
Slap of robes . . . tremble of ground. The point of a tall, brimless hat moved above squat hats, and the village lord soared into view, young, beardless, black eyes lit with amusement. Swooping, he caught Seagren to her feet by both elbows behind her back. The motion was strong, surprisingly gentle.
Seagren stumbled as they moved forward. Woozy. The lord shook her, and her head began to clear.
“Let’s see how swiftly That-Other-Kind can swim.” The lord walked her to the rim of a canal and shook her again. “You, on the levee! Five of you there! You shall race That-Other-Kind. There’re five gates out of the canal into the lake. You will all start from where I stand. At my signal, you will run, each to a different gate. The first to reach Gate One shall close it. The first to reach Gate Two shall close it, and so on. That-Other-Kind will have five chances at freedom. Any bets?”
“Wait!” A farmer, in loose pantaloons and wide-brimmed hat, captured the crowd’s attention. “We can’t do this. You’re not lord here. We must take her to the lord of our village.”
“What will he do?”
“As the law requires. Lock the creature away.”
“And if the law were changed?”
“Impossible. It comes from the beginning of time.”
“Well then. Where does my province begin?”
The farmer pointed. “At the far end of the canal.”
“No! At the third gate,” a fisher said.
“Here,” another cried. “Where the lord stands.”
“You’re wrong!”
Amid arguing Seagren studied how the canal curved from the rotzen field to parallel the lake, from where it collected water.
“Let’s not quibble,” the lord said.
Mouths closed.
“You need a lord to take That-Other-Kind to. Well, I am a lord and I am here. I can treat this case as I see fit, and I see fit to provide some education. How many would like to see how fast That-Other-Kind can swim?”
“Yes, yes, I would!”
“If she escapes . . . “ the farmer began.
“She’ll be in my province. Of that there is no doubt.”
Five side gates joined lake and canal. Seagren estimated the distance to each. The lord’s grip tightened on her elbows.
“Are you ready?”
Everyone fell silent. Five runners crouched.
Seagren felt the lord coil.
“Go!”
The runners lunged. The lord shoved. Seagren twisted to regain her balance and struck the bank, missing the water. She tasted grit. The world spun. Move! Her legs lashed out, her arms flailed against jabbing rocks and scrub.
“First gate’s down!”
Seagren rolled into the water, righted herself, and gained control. She kicked off.
The runners were fleet. The second gate fell. Seagren spurted by in a world of pumping . . . legs . . . lungs . . . hearts.
Third gate, falling. She paused. Should she try to go under?
Too late. On to the next. Hurry.
A cry arose. Fourth gate was set in its grooves. Falling.
Don’t stop to consider. Still one more.
Seagren sped on.
The last runner reached gate five. Set it. Released.
Seagren lunged.
“She’s under!”
“Look. Blood.”
***
Seagren swam seemingly for days. Weakened by blood loss, gashed foot trailing, she lost track of time. On and on, she pushed.
Until her feverish eyes saw the netted mouth of a tunnel.
Another trap?
She hovered, forcing herself alert.
Something was there. The breath of a giant. Or waves, crashing.
Current tugged her to the opening. She listened.
There was no other sound, no other vibration but that of the sea.
The web drifted unattached on one side. She squirmed through into darkness.
***
Seagren awoke on sand. She gazed into blue sky.
Blue.
Must be some ocean beach, amidst the wild sea. Far from people.
Roar of breakers, cry of sea life.
She slept.
***
Cool shadow stole warmth from her face. Her lids fluttered open. Her reflection stared back. Her eyes nodded shut. Then she remembered. She lay looking into sky, not water. Seagren reopened her eyes. Stared.
It was half grown, sitting, touching her with its red-brown-gold hair, the color of seaweed.
She must be hallucinating.
How real the creature seemed, though. Odor slight but pleasant. Vibrations gentle. Nictitating membranes half relaxed across brown eyes, then fled to the inner corners. She wanted to touch its gold skin but feared it would vanish.
When she next awoke it was still there. She heard it breathe, watched it change position. Mostly it sat for the long time she watched.
***
Seagren awoke. That-Other-Kind was gone. She raised up.
The curling ocean reflected blues and greens under a clear sky. White frothed along a beach of gold and silver sand that stretched free of rocks and full of life signs. Nowhere lay footprints of That-Other-Kind, for
waves had erased them . . . or no one had been here.
Creatures rushed in and out with the surf. Birds swooped onto verdant land.
Verdant land.
Seagren scanned lush greenery. She stood. The injured leg felt sore but usable. She hobbled across sand, dotted with ornate shells, toward the green. Flowers nodded greetings. Tiny creatures hopped among leaves. Bright birds and insects fluttered to towering plants.
Beauty on land. Surely this was a wilderness island.
She slumped into tall grass and curled up, eyes closed. Vibrations twinkled, forming an orchestra that played a lullaby. Grass strings, insects wings, wind reeds, wispy drums. . . .
A heavy resonance intruded. The little creatures fell silent, frightened at first by the nearing beast, probably a grazing goat. But peace remained. The orchestra resumed its concert, relaxing in this larger presence.
The beast’s vibrations washed over Seagren. She peeked into the eyes of the lord who had pushed her into the canal.
Chapter 5
Seagren tried to scoot away.
“Don’t be afraid.” The lord held her gently. “I’m glad you escaped into my province. It disturbed me you got hurt. How do you feel?”
No one had spoken to Seagren since she had left Mother and Father. Until now.
“You’re safe here. I am Townmaster. My wife is Oceania. She was born as you are, but in her first year she was changed into a landsteward.”
Seagren’s fears faded. “I’m Seagren. Do you have a That-Other-Kind child?”
“More than one. All adopted. Here, lean on me.”
The lord lifted Seagren, placed her arm across his shoulder as far as she could reach, and waded through grass onto a footpath. They passed flowering vines that sprinkled fragrant dew. The orchestra, once tiny, surrounded them, enriched with bird song.
Seagren craned her neck. “Strange.”
“Is it?”
“So much life. So clean.”
“On the few acres I own, you see land as it once was before the Great Ancient War.”
They passed squat plants, tall plants. Plants on plants. Some blooming, some fruited. “Did the Great Ancient War miss this place?”
“No.”
“We were taught in school how That-Other-Kind caused the War and ruined all the land and air and destroyed many beasts.” Even gentle, Townmaster’s presence weakened Seagren. “If That-Other-Kind was like me, how could we have done it?”
“It does seem ridiculous.”
A twinkle of vibration caught Seagren’s attention. Something coming. Townmaster did not seem to notice until a small figure emerged on the jungle-lined path, occasionally staggering but somehow maintaining its balance. That-Other-Kind from the beach! Real after all!
“Here comes Anemone.”
Anemone caught up and ambled beside Townmaster.
“You didn’t lock her up?” Seagren returned the child’s gaze.
“I’m considered a bad lord—but village lord nevertheless, to be obeyed, according to custom.”
“Maybe our village lord was bad, too. My parents didn’t have me changed. They didn’t turn me in either. Instead they tried to make me act like them and sent me to school.”
“Landstewards are basically kind but addicted to obeying laws, even bad ones. What you tell me is a good sign.”
“Landstewards?” Seagren was unfamiliar with the term.
“Anemone, run and tell Oceania we’re coming.”
The little girl dashed ahead.
“Anemone is shy,” Townmaster said. “Like all waterstewards. She’s the oldest, so when she saw you, she was delighted.”
“Waterstewards?” Another unfamiliar term.
Despite her curiosity, Seagren gave in to exhaustion. She sagged.
Townmaster lifted her in his arms, and the lord’s strides rocked like the sea. From beyond the bird chorus and greenery, the tide whispered, Never fear . . . I am here . . . Within reach . . . Always near.
The rocking stopped. Before a house that reached from the trail into the jungle, Anemone stood with nineteen of her kind, toddlers to near her age. Behind, hands on two children’s shoulders, stood an altered one who resembled the lord more than her charges. Oceania, Townmaster’s wife
The lord set Seagren down inside where Oceania cleared an aisle through the curious to a cot. There Seagren collapsed.
The children oozed in.
“Are you grown up?” came a tiny voice.
Seagren forced an answer. “Almost, I guess.”
“Are you going to live with us?”
Seagren’s eyelids drooped.
“Come away,” Oceania said. “Let Seagren rest so she can get well.”
Casting lingering looks, the children left.
Anemone hung back. “Please, I won’t disturb her.”
Oceania nodded and Anemone settled by the cot. Seagren was glad.
***
Fragrance floated through the window. Seagren stirred. She had spent three days sleeping, healing, gathering strength. Three days without the water.
On every side children nestled like pillows in the darkness. Soft snoring rose and receded from another chamber.
Seagren stepped over bodies and climbed through the window.
The forest also snored. Here a creak, there a buzz. Above hovered multistoried branches. The path felt firm, cool under her feet. She entered the forest.
A rhythmic rush grew audible. Seagren increased her pace. Her wound was nearly healed, and she felt energetic. Just a quick dip. It would suffice until the new day.
The path split. She chose the way where the ambiance of moisture seemed strongest. Anemone had said one branch brought the forest to a cove where Oceania sometimes took the children to swim while she watched, perched in a tree, safe from the water.
Seagren continued until the sense of the cove shouted inside her. Soon she would be there. Fifty more steps.
A silvery phantom rose in the path at the water’s edge. And was gone.
Rustling. Everywhere.
Seagren fled.
***
The family gathered in the mid room for their once-a-day repast around woven mats, eating rotzen loaves, sea vegetables, clams, berries in rotzen pudding, and the like. Otherwise the children foraged in the sea. Seagren sat across from Townmaster and Oceania. Smacks, conversation, and titters punctuated the air.
Townmaster licked his fingers. “You look well, today, Seagren.”
Seagren’s shyness dissolved. “I like being here.” She sucked on a clam shell. Should she say more? “There are sounds in the evening, though.”
Smiles blossomed around the food circle.
“The land lives,” Townmaster said.
“These are big rustlings. Like many large beings moving about. And something silvery. Like a phantom.”
Oceania’s eyes flickered a warning. Of what? “Deer,” she said, “and a trick of the moon.” She reached a cloth to wipe the face of the smallest child.
Clearly the subject was closed, not to be discussed. Seagren turned to her meal, trying to imagine the phantom as a deer, without success.
***
Alone, Seagren and Anemone sat, dripping, on mossy rocks in the cove. Seagren had thought to discuss the phantom with Anemone and decided against it. Later, maybe, when Seagren understood more of what was expected of her. For now, she let Anemone decide their conversation.
“Weren’t you afraid when you ran away from home?”
“No.” The water reflected a glowing, revolving web on surrounding trees and boulders. A web as confusing as Seagren’s thoughts. How had
she felt? “Mostly I felt overwhelmed. And useless.”
“Do you feel overwhelmed and useless here?”
Seagren shrugged. “Only useless.” She blinked second eyelids thoughtfully. “Townmaster should be overwhelming; he is a landsteward.”
“He controls his vibrations, making them friendly and light.” Anemone dimpled suddenly. “So you needn’t consider leaving here.”
Seagren’s heart lifted. Then she realized there were other reasons she had left home. “Actually, leaving wasn’t something I planned. I was always following urges. There was this urge to find something, I didn’t know what. Until it drew me here. Now I know it was to be with my own kind. Maybe to learn about us. Can you tell me?”
With her webbed foot Anemone dipped into the water and stirred aqueous diamonds. “I know there are two kinds of people. Landstewards, like one of my parents and our lord. They all have land names. Then there are waterstewards. Who have sea names. If a landsteward weds a watersteward, their children might be waterstewards, so they usually don’t have children. I don’t remember my parents well enough to know their names. So I don’t know which was a watersteward.”
Seagren cupped water in her palm and let it run down her fingers onto her leg. “Father was Rotzenleaf and Mother was Pebble. I guess they weren’t really my parents; they didn’t look like me.” She quickly brushed her leg off.
Anemone leaped up. “Let’s ask Townmaster.”
Seagren followed Anemone into the forest. “Should we disturb him?”
They stood silently, letting emanations roll over them. Townmaster was not near.
“If he’s inland, he’s with landstewards,” Anemone said. “If he’s at the beach, we can approach him.”
“Then let’s go there!”
The two burst down the path, giggling and holding each other up from tripping. When they rounded the last curve, the jungle opened, and above the grass rose the ocean.
The roar of breakers pulsed the air. A murmur of wind touched the grasses. Gulls skreeled. Trees whispered. The waterstewards sorted through their skins, not knowing how they sorted.
“I feel him, he’s here somewhere.”
“Among the plants.”
The two found Townmaster patting a tiny deer. The animal crooked its neck to regard the newcomers, and Townmaster followed its gaze. “If you’re looking for Oceania and the children, they are up the beach.” He pointed.
The two waited, peering at him from beneath seaweed-colored brows.
“You’re looking for me?”
“Seagren has questions.”
The lord smiled. The animal moved aside to graze. “As village lord I know many ancient secrets, but I will share some with you.”