The Waters Rising (77 page)

“Repulsive.”

“That, either.”

“No. Darling, remember, the Sea King was talking to me. Well, to me and to you. He was talking about, ah . . . a proof of sincerity. Only humans who sincerely wanted to live as sea creatures should be allowed to have children who would be sea creatures. Actually, he never said what
those children
would look like.”

She lay back, yawned, tried to open her eyes all the way but did not succeed. “You mean, it only applies to the . . .”

“I’m guessing it was a kind of selection process. I think that’s the way he planned it. Or he and the Tingawans who were involved.”

“You mean it only applies to the first generation.” She lay there very quietly, her eyes shut, thinking it over.

It was time for him to kiss her, he felt sure. That would be appropriate. That and some comment about how . . . beautiful the children’s tails were. They really were handsome children. Of course, he couldn’t judge them from the waist down. He had no criteria for tails. Her eyes were opening. He shuddered. He had seldom seen so evil a smile.

“Well then,” said Xulai, “since we first-generation ones can be only human on land or octopus in water, and since cephalopods don’t lactate, and humans have to breathe air, and since I intend to leave with you on our next trip very, very soon, isn’t it lucky we have Grandpas Lok-i-xan and Sea King to be the nursemaids.” She smiled again. “Sea King especially. Two arms for each baby and one arm for each bottle. And two to hold on to a rock or something.”

“
Oozums splishy sweetums
,” cooed the obstetrician.

Abasio kissed his wife. He sat beside her, holding her hand until she went to sleep. There was silence in the room outside. He wondered what the doctor had done with the babies. Did merbabies sleep? And where? Had they set up a nursery with aquaria?

He went out into the room. The doctor had gone. In the buckets, the babies were asleep, their heads out of water. They seemed to have belly buttons. A little raw looking, but no cord attached. Self-separating, maybe? The gills along their sides weren’t moving. Evidently it was a matter of convenience, gills or nose, either way. Great. Mother octopus wouldn’t need to lactate; the babies could be fed out of water.

He decided to show the babies to Blue.

The stables weren’t far, but it took him, them, some time to get there. Various people came along, to look, to admire, to recoil in surprise. It was only surprise, he realized, quite correctly. It was not revulsion. One husky warrior offered to carry a bucket. The warrior’s friend offered to carry the other one. Abasio gratefully accepted. Buckets full of water were heavy. Transportation was going to be a problem. One of many.

In the stable, Blue stood waiting. “The news preceded you,” he said. “I heard you were coming.”

The buckets were set where Blue could put his nose in them. He snuffed at the babies, who said “ga” and “ba” at him and attempted to grab his nose. Other people gathered, both human and horse. Conversation ensued at various levels. Someone fetched several bottles of . . . “Oh wonderful! Something to drink!” Toasts were proposed. Silence abruptly fell, and Abasio looked up:
Oh, damn! Imperial parasols!

“Lok-i-xan,” said Abasio as cheerily as he could manage. “Justinian.” He noticed with dismay that most of his fellow revelers were edging toward the door.

“Everyone stay as you are,” said Lok-i-xan, waving the parasols away. “Someone offer me a cup.”

Someone quickly did so.

“We’re sorry to be so late,” Justinian said. “The doctors wanted to . . . congratulate us, and they did go on and on about it.” He came rather tentatively toward the buckets, putting his hand on the rim, just as Abasio had done. His fingers were seized. He smiled. His eyes filled with tears.

“Let us drink to the next generation,” said Abasio, raising his cup . . . mug . . . actually he wasn’t sure what it was usually used for. One of the stablemen had given it to him. It looked . . . veterinary. Silence threatened to fall heavily.

Blue said hastily, “I am reminded of a song.” He nudged Abasio, cleared his throat, and sang, quite tunefully:

Oh, evolution is the force

That pulls the culture wagon

But no one really knows, of course,

By which the what is draggin’.

Time sometimes runs from front to back

And sometimes even sidewise

And oceans have the liquid knack

Of daily running tidewise.

“Ti-i-idewi-i-ise,” echoed the two warriors, one of whom strummed an ondang as Blue continued:

Though who has tails, and wears them where,

Are matters that could lure us

With riddles so arcane and rare

That none would ever cure us . . .

Abasio patted his grandfather-in-law on the shoulder and, waving his glass—mug—whatever—joined in.

Let’s not waste life deciphering,

Let lore and logic scatter,

Let love and beauty rapture bring . . .

And fish tails will not matter

And fish tails will not matter.

No, fish tails will not matter!

“Fish tails will not matter,” echoed Lok-i-xan, who was very busy tickling one of the babies. “Such a big, strong boy . . .”

Abasio patted him on the shoulder again.

And Justinian, leaning over the other bucket, looked up with a glowing face. “Look, Abasio! Lok-i-xan! She has her grandmother’s eyes.”

About the Author

SHERI S. TEPPER
is the author of several resoundingly acclaimed novels, including
The Margarets, The Companions, The Visitor, The Fresco, Singer from the Sea, Six Moon Dance, The Family Tree, Gibbon’s Decline and Fall, Shadow’s End, A Plague of Angels, Sideshow,
and
Beauty,
which was voted Best Fantasy Novel of the Year by readers of
Locus
magazine. Tepper lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico

Also by Sheri S. Tepper

The Margarets

The Companions

The Visitor

The Fresco

Singer from the Sea

Six Moon Dance

The Family Tree

Gibbon’s Decline and Fall

Shadow’s End

A Plague of Angels

Sideshow

Raising the Stones

Grass

Beauty

The Gate to Women’s Country

After Long Silence

The Awakeners

Credits

Jacket illustration by John Picacio

Copyright

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

THE WATERS RISING
. Copyright © 2010 by Sheri S. Tepper. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

Map by Tracy Pollock, Springer Cartographics LLC.

EPub Edition September 2010 ISBN: 9780062008732

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

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