Yondering Page 6

  Then cold water sluiced over him from behind. He yelped, startled, and almost fell. Catching his balance, he whirled, hands balled into fists, a curse on the tip of his tongue, ready to fight whoever’d done it. He found himself face to face with Seth Dommerson.

  The son of the worldmaster was lean and dark, with a narrow face and a chin that thrust out at the universe as if daring it to fight. His black hair had been bound tight behind his head in the manner of the world’s elders.

  Seth smiled sharply at Rik, taunting, daring. He still held a dripping amalanthi-hide bucket in his left hand. More than enough evidence to convict him a thousand times over.

  Rik drew back. No; he wouldn’t fight the son of the worldmaster. Anyone else, but not him, not Seth, who could bend his father’s will like silvergrass in the wind with his flattery. One word from Seth and he might never darkfish; he’d be forced to stay onworld like a child, doing the work of the old and the weak: preparing foods, gathering silvergrass, weaving mats.

  The idea sickened him. He closed his eyes for a second, then turned away. It hurt, but he could do nothing else. Still, the sun would dry his loincloth soon enough; a little water couldn’t hurt.

  “Something wrong, child?” Seth called. “You piss yourself?”

  Before Rik could stop himself, he whirled and struck out. He heard more than felt flesh meet flesh. It was over in a second, almost before he realized it, and Seth sprawled across the ground’s hard plates, a startled look on his face. He slid toward the ocean, but hooked his fingers between plates and caught himself.

  “Shit,” Rik said. Suddenly his hand hurt. He pulled it to his chest and rubbed it, cursing himself for a fool. He knew he’d made a mistake. Seth would get even with him now. He’d have to—it would be point of honor.

  He just stood there and stared for a long time, not knowing what else to do. Then he bit his lip, turned, and stalked off. Well, it couldn’t be helped now. Luckily nobody else had seen them. Nobody could tease Seth and make him even angrier.

  Inworld rose the hard, black plates of the land, curving up and then in to form the great cup-shaped valley called Home. The world’s three-hundred-odd people lived there. Thin lines of smoke from small cooking fires curled into the pale green sky, marking the place for all to see.

  Rik walked along the edge of the world, trying to think of nothing but water and sky, trying to drive all other thoughts from his mind. He heard Seth following him, the other’s bare feet slapping against the small, hard plates of the world’s hide. Stopping, Rik struggled to control his anger. Why couldn’t Seth leave him alone? Why did Seth always put him down, try to make him feel like a fool? He’d never done anything to make the son of the worldmaster hate him so.

  Turning, he looked back, but Seth didn’t go away. The worldmaster’s son hunkered down and grinned cruelly at him.

  “What do you want?” Rik finally said. A drop of water traced a cold line down his back.

  “My father wants to see you.”

  “What for?”

  “Walman spotted a darkfish. It’s pretty far away, but he can tell it’s following us.”

  Rik felt his heart beating faster and leaned forward, suddenly eager. “When’ll it get here?”

  “Tonight, Walman says.”

  “Tonight—”

  “My father picked the darkfishers. You’re one of them.”

  Seth rose and trotted away, climbing the barren, black hill of the world, heading toward Home. Only then, with Seth gone, did Rik let himself relax—and the wonder of it all struck him. The worldmaster had chosen him as a darkfisher! When the world and the darkfish touched and fought, he’d be with the men, with the darkfishers. They’d cross to the darkfish, pry up its plates, steal its blood and flesh.

  He could see himself with the other men, leading the charge across the water, being the first to touch foot on the other world. Darkfishing was a task only men could do, and by custom only six men at once. Being chosen, especially on this night, when the gods would meet in battle, was an honor. It meant the worldmaster had decided he was a man at last. A wife would come next, and children, and perhaps—

  He snorted. It was all a dream at the moment. First came the darkfishing, and then the manhood rituals, and then he’d get his mate if he survived. A darkfish took my father. The ocean is a killer. But when he looked across the ocean, he saw nothing but shimmers of color, patterns of light and dark, and he wondered which girl the worldmaster would choose for him.

  * * * *

  Rik closed his eyes, drew one last breath, and raised his arms over his head. Olen, his uncle, stepped close and smeared a thick, oily paste across his nose and cheeks, then around his mouth and over his forehead. Olen’s one good eye squinted as he appraised his work, then he nodded grudging approval. They’d already coated the rest of Rik’s body. His head came last. The smelly stuff would protect him from the chill of the night, as well as from the spirits of men lost to the waves. Spirits like his father’s.

  “Done,” Olen said, stepping back.

  Rik opened his eyes and tried a smile that came out as a grimace. The stink nauseated him. “Good. I’m ready.”

  He stood in the exact center of Home. The silvergrass grew thick here, in huge jumbled masses that could not be beaten down or cut away. The huge, tame, leather-winged amalanthi nested in the tangles.

  A ripple ran through the world. The men wobbled, but managed to keep their balance. It was the same whenever a darkfish came near. In moments, Rik knew, the world would turn to face the darkfish, and then the two great creatures would fight.

  Soon, he thought, feeling the world slow, turn.

  All the men in the world, all three hundred and six, had come to see them off. Rik felt his heart hammering as he thought of leaping from the world’s edge with only a spear and a knife to protect him. The darkfish! He’d dreamed about them: oh yes, he’d always listened when the darkfishers spun tales of the strange creatures so like their world, only barren and uninhabited. He’d touched small fleshplates which other fishers had brought back, eaten soft flesh torn from the creatures’ backs, drank from amalanthi-bladders filled with darkfishes’ sweet, sweet blood. It made him feel light-headed, the first time he drank. Now the same giddiness came over him again, only a hundred times stronger. His knees felt weak. Swallowing, he found a lump in his throat.

  Tom Dommerson, the aged worldmaster, ceremonial robes of amalanthi leather gathered around him, had been going down the line of darkfishers. To each he bent and spoke words, leaning on his bone staff for support.

  He whispered in Rik’s ear, “The spirits of our fathers’ fathers’ fathers watch over you tonight. Let not the water take your soul.” Then he stepped back, bowed his head, and mumbled a final prayer to the spirits.

  When the worldmaster looked up, there was an eager expression on his face. He turned and spoke not only to the darkfishers, but to all that had gathered: “I have done what must be done. Since the first days it has been this way. Home is the world, and the world is life!”

  “The world is life,” Rik echoed with the others. These words, too, he had heard a hundred times over. It had been part of the ritual of darkfishing since the earliest times, when the first elders had come to the world from the stars.

  “Come,” Tom Dommerson said. “This is the time. The darkfishers will run tonight!”

  The men slapped their hands against their chests, shouting their courage. Rik cried out as loudly as the rest, cried out until his throat burned and tears ran down his cheeks.

  Then, too suddenly, it was time to run, to be the darkfisher he’d always known he’d be. Rik picked up his spear and knife and pricked his thumb on the points of each, raising two tiny beads of night-dark blood: these tools would do. His mother had carved them from bones of amalanthi just for this night, when first he darkfished. The others took up their spears and knives, plus bladders for darkfish blood and sacks for its flesh or plates.

  Only one thing marred the night’s perfect
ion for Rik: the thought of Seth going with them. The worldmaster’s son, too, had been chosen for the honor of this night’s work, along with four seasoned darkfishers: tall, heavy-set Barl Janus; thin Del Shiff, with his nervous, fluttery hands; Aran Leya, the story-teller; and Rik’s only uncle, Olen, with his strong arms and one good eye.

  His uncle took his elbow and whispered, “Stay close to me and you’ll do all right.”

  “Yes, uncle,” he said, softly.

  The whole group moved up the slope, out of Home, in single file. Those chosen to darkfish came last. As he topped the edge of the hill, Rik found himself straining to see over the waves. The stars provided a thin silvery light, sprinkling the ocean with tiny broken flakes of color.

  And then he saw the darkfish. It glided across the ocean like a shadow, dark and mysterious and silent. The world underfoot trembled at its nearness.

  All the men had stopped and turned to look at the approaching creature. Rik swallowed. Still it came. He could see the rising crest of its hill—so like their Home!—and began to make out the faint pattern of plates around its edge. It was larger than he’d expected, larger than Home by far. How could their world hope to defend itself against such an attacker? How could he possibly cross and walk upon such a monster?

  He thought of begging not to be sent, but one look at Seth forced that idea from him. Seth would taunt him, brand him a coward: he could never let that happen. Gulping, he forced his shoulders back and faced the darkfish head on.

  The creature stretched across the whole ocean before him. Soon, he realized uneasily, he would be there to walk its plates and taste its blood—

  The world shuddered violently, throwing him off his feet. He got up slowly, retrieving spear and knife. No. He had to turn his fear to eagerness, try to act as a darkfisher should act. It was an honor to go tonight, he told himself again and again, for when he finished, he’d be a man.

  Only he didn’t feel like a man. He felt like a child new from his mother’s breast, afraid of the dark, afraid of monsters. Old tales of the spirits that haunted darkfish came back to him. A darkfish took my father. Will I meet his spirit here?

  The two great creatures drew close, edges almost touching.

  “Go now,” the worldmaster said to his son, to them all. “May you not be left behind.”

  The others sprinted toward the edge of the world, straight for the darkfish. Rik hesitated a moment, then plunged after them. He ran as hard as he could and soon caught up with Barl Janus and his uncle.

  But Seth Dommerson had already far outstripped Del and Aran Leya, trying to show his bravery by being the first to cross to the darkfish. Seth reached the edge of the world, leaped across the small stretch of water, touched foot on the darkfish. Grinning, he turned toward Rik and the others, raising his knife and spear in salute.

  “Get out of the way!” Del Shiff shouted. He reached the edge of the world and leaped across as Seth scrambled back.

  Aran followed him across, then Olen. Rik came next. He leaped, saw water chopping below him for an instant, then suddenly found himself scrambling for purchase on the darkfish’s fleshy plates. He made it up the slope, joining the others. When he looked back, Barl Janus had already crossed.

  The plates beneath their feet trembled. Already their world fought this darkfish, he knew, one straining against the other in a battle of wills, of strength. All too quickly the fight would end and the darkfish go their separate ways. The darkfishers had to be finished by then or they would be carried off to the unknown, to death, on the back of this monster.

  “Seth, come with me,” Barl called. He’d dropped a bundle of woven silvergrass sacks and, with a flick of his knife, cut the string holding them together. He took half and headed up the slope, toward the larger fleshplates. Rik knew they would pry one out of position and carve thick slices of soft, sweet meat from beneath it.

  Rik’s uncle took the other half of the silvergrass sacks. Motioning Rik to follow, he moved to the right. Del and Aran went left, to drain the creature’s blood into the bladders they carried.

  Olen stopped in front of a two-foot-round plate ten paces from the ocean. He dropped the silvergrass sacks at Rik’s feet, knelt, and began working his knife in the space between plates. When it sank in to the hilt, the darkfish trembled, as if in pain. Olen withdrew the knife and stuck his spear in the hole. As he stood, he gave a grunt and threw all his weight onto the spear, heaving first to the right, then to the left, then to the right again.

  The plate popped out of position with a little sucking sound. Stringy bits of flesh still joined it to the darkfish. Dark blood pooled in the hole.

  “Cut it loose,” Olen said.

  Rik seized his knife and sawed at the tough strings of flesh. Blood smeared his hands and arms, making them slippery. When at last he’d cut the plate completely free, his uncle pulled the spear away and started prying another one loose. Rik lifted the first one out of position—it was surprisingly light—and stuffed it into a sack.

  The darkfish shook again, harder than before. Olen continued working at a frantic pace, speaking quickly and quietly.

  He said: “My father told me this, and it has been passed down from the very first days. The darkfish’s blood is special. There is something in it called alcohol—it keeps them warm in the water, keeps their blood flowing. It’s the alcohol that tingles the tongue and makes their blood so good. Do you understand that?”

  “Alcohol,” Rik said. “Sure.” It was another of the strange words, like ‘starship’ and ‘radio,’ which the elders sometimes used. He didn’t believe in all the miracles they spoke of. How could there be anything you couldn’t see or hear or touch? Blood was blood, and darkfish blood was sweet.

  As he waited to cut the next plate free, Rik looked up at the sky. The stars were bright. Did people really live out there? He found it impossible to believe.

  “Stop daydreaming, boy!” Olen snapped.

  Rik looked down. His uncle had another plate out of joint, ready for him to cut.

  * * * *

  Rik and his uncle cut eleven more plates loose in quick succession, filling their sacks. Now they lugged their booty back toward the place where this strange darkfish almost touched the edge of the world. Rik could see all the men of the world sitting on Home’s slopes, waiting expectantly.

  One by one he and Olen heaved their sacks onto the edge of the world. A moment later Del and Aran joined them and began tossing sealed bladders of darkfish blood across as well. When they had all finished, the four of them leaped the five-foot stretch of water, gathered up the sacks and bladders, and moved up the slope in a triumphant procession.

  Halfway to the top, Rik turned to look back at the darkfish. Seth and Barl Janus stood near the world now, throwing their bundles of darkfish meat to safety.

  “Go help them,” Olen said.

  “Yes, sir,” Rik said. He dropped his burden and jogged down the slope toward the edge of the world.

  Barl tossed the last of his sacks across and jumped over to safety. As he began dragging them toward Home, Seth turned and padded silently back up the darkfish’s sloping plates. His shape grew more and more indistinct in the dark, until at last he couldn’t be seen at all.

  Rik drew up short, bewildered. Didn’t Seth know the darkfish never fought long? Didn’t he realize he might be left behind? Rik shivered; it was an unpleasant thought, something he could never wish on anyone, not even Seth.

  Suddenly Barl Janus noticed Seth’s absence. He shouted, “I told you to leave it! There’s not enough time! Seth, get back here!”

  Rik said, “What did he forget?”

  “He wanted to bring the big plate we cut out. I said we didn’t have time. The fool!”

  “We could help him. There are still a few minutes left!”

  Barl looked up at the heavens as if beseeching the gods. “You don’t take chances with darkfish. I saw three men left once, your father among them, when a darkfish ran too soon. It’s too risky.”
>
  Drifting.…

  Rik thought of his father, lost to the ocean, drifting forever on a darkfish. He’d be dead now, without a worldmaster to protect him from the spirits of those lost to the ocean. It was the most horrible death he knew.

  The world trembled, and he saw the darkfish tremble in response. He hesitated. There was still time. And, after all, the ocean could never hurt him, never leave him away from Home. He could still help Seth. Perhaps the worldmaster’s son wouldn’t hate him so much if he did. Even if Seth just ignored him it would be better than the constant taunts, the constant petty tricks—

  Almost without thinking he leaped across to the darkfish. Behind him, he heard his uncle screaming for him to come back and Barl Janus calling him a fool. He tucked his head down and pounded up the slope.

  He found Seth struggling with a huge fleshplate, one easily five feet across. The boy staggered under his load, hardly able to walk.

  “Hurry,” Rik called, reaching for one of the plate’s sides. “Let me help.”

  Cursing, Seth jerked it away from him. “It’s mine! Get away—I’m not going to let you take it!”

  “Don’t be stupid! You’ll never get it back by yourself!”

  “Yes, I will! You just want to claim it. You’ve always been jealous. Get away from me!” He staggered across the slope under the heavy weight.

  “There’s not enough time!”

  “Get away!”

  Rik stared in silence. He felt the darkfish’s plates begin to shift underfoot, not trembling as they’d done before, but actually move as if the creature had changed direction. A sudden cold swept through him.