Dave Duncan - West of January

The newcomer grinned more widely yet and extended a hand that looked as large as a small saddle.

With my heart thumping madly, I released Flashing and crawled over to him. His hand swallowed mine whole and my wrist as well.

“Like sunfish, Knobil?”

“I don’t know.”

“Will have good surprise, then! Are feasting. Caught very big sunfish! Come!” He chuckled and disappeared.

Flashing was tying on her pagne, and I suddenly realized that I should do the same. I scrambled back together to get it, while congratulating myself on having actually shaken hands with a man. I had seen Violet do that, and my father.

The seafolk garments were much briefer than any I had known in my youth, merely a scrap of sealskin with two thongs attached, wrapped around and knotted. Flashing laughed. We were both kneeling on the moss; she reached out and grabbed my pagne, and for one inspiring moment I thought she wanted a rematch, but all she did was give it a twist around. “Tied on wrong side!” she explained, her eyes twinkling perceptively. The knot went on the left side, apparently.

Pebble was waiting for me in the corridor, and I was astonished to discover that he was no taller than me. He wore the same scanty pagne of golden sealskin, and above it he had the chest and shoulders of a herd-man, but from the waist down he was as slim and short as a trader. The seafolk, I was soon to discover, are all that shape—not truly large, but seeming so because of their enormous chests. I had already noticed the women.

“Come!” he said again and set off along the passage at a trot.

The floor was springy with moss, moving rhythmically as waves ran beneath it. I took two steps and pitched flat on my face. I scrambled up and repeated the process.

Chortling loudly, Pebble returned to help me. There was no sympathy in his grin, but there was no mockery, either. He just found my clumsiness very funny, and evidently he expected me to do the same. Flashing had either tarried behind or gone another way.

Steadied by Pebble’s giant hand, I staggered along the passage, feeling like a stupid child. The corridor twisted and branched until my head spun. The grove was not solid, though. From time to time we passed water-filled clearings. The small ones were dark and shaded; the large ones, sun-bright. The seafolk call them “doors.”

As we walked, Pebble was continually catching protruding springs and tucking them back into the wicker walls. He was probably not even aware he was doing it, but it is only thus that the sea trees can be kept from filling every cranny of the copse.

“Will like sunfish!” he proclaimed. “Is very hard to catch. Am best hunter in the tribe! Have big feast now.”

The thought of a big feast was unnerving. Already I regretted my rash decision to come. I knew so little about these folk! They seemed to be friendly, and I was deeply grateful, but I was now remembering Violet’s sternest warning—that with strangers one must always try to discover their mating habits as soon as possible, because sexual customs vary greatly. A mistake with those is the fastest road to trouble, he had said. I wondered what trouble I might have stumbled into already.

“Sir…”

Pebble’s teeth shone. “ ‘Sir’ me and feed you to fish!”

“Pebble, then?”

“Mmm?” Without breaking stride, he pulled a blossom from the wall and proceeded to eat it.

“Friend Pebble? This…making waves…with Flashing…”

“And Wave? And Sea Wind! Is good one, yes?” His twinkling eye said that my activities had been no secret. “And Silver? Mmmm!”

“It’s all right, then? No one minds? I don’t understand your customs, you see.”

“Is not customs, is just way of life.” He looked puzzled, chewing vigorously. He plucked another flower and handed it to me. “Eat that—is good. Did enjoy Flashing?”

“Very much!” I was sure that such open generosity did not fit any of Violet’s teachings—it also deeply offended my herdman sense of right and wrong, although that had not stopped me from accepting it. “What happens if…what happens if the woman becomes…if she learns she is going to bear a child?”

Pebble stopped dead and stared at me wide-eyed. “Have big feast for her! Are very happy! Love babies very much!”

“Oh!” I said warily. “That’s nice.”

I did not dare inquire what responsibilities that child’s father had, but in fact the answer would have been outside my wildest guesses—none at all. Unique among all the peoples of Vernier, the seafolk need never worry about food because they have the great ones to help them. Moreover, any adult would die of starvation before seeing a child go hungry. The whole tribe nurtured the children.

“Is my feasting place!” Pebble exclaimed proudly, leading me into one of the larger clearings. The central pool shone bright in the steep rays of the sun, while the broad shelf of soft green moss surrounding it was shaded by the overhang of the trees. Water and moss flexed together as the sea’s gentle swell ran through the glade. A fire crackled and steamed at the far side. Many people were already there, standing or lounging around on the platform—mostly women, but a few children of assorted ages. From the smallest to ancient Behold, who was tending the fire, every one of them showed the thick chest and shoulders of seafolk, and every one had woolly brown curls. At the sight of me, they fell silent in surprise.

I was paralyzed to be facing such a crowd, and yet at once I sensed that something was wrong. There were least four times as many women as men—that seemed perfectly natural to me—but few children. I had opened my mouth to ask about that, but fortunately I didn’t have a chance to hurt my hosts’ feelings.

For at that moment a roar of welcome filled the feasting place. I might have turned and fled, had Pebble not still been gripping my arm. Before I could even try, I was enveloped in a breaking surf of people, all riotously attempting to hug and kiss me—men, women, and children. The mossy shelf on which we stood could not bear the weight; it bent, and the giant ball of seafolk with its terrified herdman center tipped gently off into the water.

To everyone but me, this was hilariously funny and became even funnier when they realized that their visitor could not swim and had not returned to the surface. I was hauled up from the depths, set onto the moss, and thumped until I stopped coughing. The smaller kids were rolling in helpless mirth, and some of the adults openly weeping at such unexpected merriment. The inside of my nose hurt even more than my dignity, and my breathing was not helped by the number of people still trying kiss me.

But then a voice began calling for some consideration for the guest. It was not Pebble, though. As a herdman, I was shocked to discover that a woman was shouting orders and hauling people back to give me air. Much more surprising was that even the men were obeying her with good-humored grins.

Pebble beamed proudly. “Is wife, Sparkle.”

Violet had told me about wives. In cultures where marriage was practiced, he had said, a woman was allowed to choose the man who would own her, or at least she might protest if she did not approve of her father’s choice. Usually but not always, a man was limited to owning one wife and therefore might display dangerous jealousy.

Violet would likely have approved of Sparkle. I certainly did. She was older than Pebble, smallish and rather slender for the women of that tribe. Some races might have preferred wider hips in a woman, but the seafolk are a beautiful people, and although the seamen did not rate Sparkle as the loveliest, I considered her just perfect. She had a dignity and purpose that others did not, yet she lacked none of their childlike gaiety. Her face was round and happy, with dark eyes, brown curls, and a fascinating dimple that came and went unpredictably. Even if she did not curve as voluptuously as some, true beauty flows also from within, from a brightness of spirit, and none could match Sparkle in that.