Water (23 page)

know why either of us is still here either. Perhaps because I am the one who gave you the water,

and I would have done exactly the same in your position—except that I would not have known

how to birth a foal.” And in her Guardian’s eyes Tamia saw what she had known for a long time,

although she had not let herself know she knew it: that part of the reason her Guardian had

chosen her as apprentice was because she would make just that sort of wrong decision, and if it

lost them the world, then so it did. “We can only do what we can do,” said her Guardian softly.

“Sometimes it is enough, despite all.” More briskly she added: “And that valley needed a

waterfall, don’t you think? Although I hadn’t realised it till you did it. The Grey Mare’s Tail.

There will be stories about it, you know.”

“But not the true story,” said Tamia.

“That’s as you choose, my dear,” said her Guardian. “But I would like to tell it, if you will let

me—and we shall have some trouble making Water Gate keep silent.”

Tamia looked towards the tea-table; there were only two cups laid out, and two plates.

“Water Gate has gone, back to his home,” said her Guardian. “He left a message for you: well

done.” She laughed at the expression on Tamia’s face. “He was particularly impressed by your

use of the seventh stone—although he would have made you put it with the others if he had

known, and none of them in the yew either. He said to tell you, Not even Guardians know

everything—and that Western Mouth had chosen better than he could have guessed. He added

some rather unflattering things about me, but you don’t have to hear them.”

Tamia scowled, because no one was allowed to say unflattering things about her Guardian. But

she was distracted by a grey nose thrust under her arm. She stroked it, and said sadly, “I suppose,

if we tell the story, we shall be able to find out—who she—they—belong to.”

“They belong to you,” said her Guardian. “Do you think any islander would deny a Guardian’s

token so chosen? Nor do I think these two would cooperate about being given back. We can find

out who they used to belong to, if you would like to learn the mare’s name, and your foal’s

daddy.”

“I do not care about names or bloodlines. I can name them myself, and they are who they are,”

said Tamia. “But I would like whoever lost them to know that they are safe and well.”

“Then that is what we will do,” said her Guardian. The foal was sucking interestedly at her

sleeve. “I have told you before that Guardians have never had familiar animals; I believe you are

about to begin a new tradition.” She removed her sleeve from the foal’s mouth; he gave her a

wounded look, and stepped on her foot as he turned away towards his mother, and milk. “
Ouch.
I

hope I am not too set in my ways to adjust.”

Kraken

by Peter Dickinson

They wore traveller’s clothes, tight-laced against the sea wind, she all in grey, he in worn brown

leather. They leaned on the taffrail and stared aft. Now they could see the pursuing sail, of which

the lookout’s cry had told them an hour ago.

“
Can it be one of my father’s?
”
she said.

“
How should it have found us, with all the wide ocean to search?
”

Now the captain came and watched with them for a while.

“
That is no merchantman,
”
he said.
“
And no warship either. She follows too fast. My lord, you

had best arm yourself. My lady, will you go below?
”

Keeping to shadows, without seeming to be lurking, moving as if she were going nowhere in

particular, Ailsa drifted along the mountain spur. Far above glittered the bright sunrise. Once

over the first ridge, she changed course and headed directly along the slope to the cranny where

she kept the spare harness. While she fetched it out and sorted it through, she whistled once,

twice, and again. Now Carn came surging towards her, circled a couple of times to show that he

didn’t need to have come at her call, but had chosen to do so, took the titbit from her hand and let

her slide the harness over his head.

As she was fastening the cheek buckle, she heard the school bell ring, calling her for the last

time. She did not falter. Nor did she smile as she used to when she was younger, from childish

bravado, setting out on another illicit ride, worth the consequences for the fun of it. To-day was

different. To-morrow the school bell would be silent for the holidays, and when it next rang, it

would do so for others.

Why not wait for to-morrow, then, when she would be free to ride out as she chose?

For that very reason. To-day she would say good-bye to childhood.

Carn flicked his tail, impatient

“Oh, all right,” she said aloud.

She clipped herself into the harness, laid her body along his with her hip beside the big forefin,

tapped her tail against his flank, and streamlined herself to the rush of water as he surged away.

Now she did smile. It was impossible not to. To Ailsa, as to all merfolk, riding a blue-fin who

really wanted to go was the finest thing in the ocean. You didn’t need to be a child to feel like

that.

They returned to the taffrail, he in dark armour that had clearly seen service, she in a long green

cloak. By now the following ship was hull up, half again both their size and speed. A black flag

strained at the masthead. The captain, still watching, turned and frowned.

“
My lady, you should be below.
”

“
Are you going to fight?
”

“
What else can we do
?
If we surrender, they will still slit our throats. A lucky shot may bring

down her mast.
”

“
Then I will fight too. My lord has spare pistols. I know the use of them.
”

Blue-fin have three main paces—drift, pulse and surge. Carn was still at full surge, delighted to

be going somewhere, anywhere. Ailsa twitched the bit in his mouth.

“Easy,” she told him. “Easy. We’ve got all day.”

He responded as much to her voice as to the bit and slowed to a steady pulse, heading up to just

below the wave-roots, where the going was still smooth, and the water golden with morning.

Later, when they were beyond pursuit, they would practise some wave leaping. Carn was still

young, Ailsa’s first blue-fin—as a child she had ridden the smaller yellow-fin. The waves today

were just about right for schooling him, steady in their march, tall enough for him to get the

point, but not so tall that he might lose confidence.

Merfolk have an innate sense of direction, and Ailsa knew where she was heading, southsouthwest, out over the Grand Gulf, a vast empty tract with immeasurable depths below. Nobody

had much business out this way, so it was here that she was least likely to be seen. She had kept

the same course for almost an hour when she heard the thunder.

Thunder, on a day like this? And there was something odd about the sound. It had the right deep

roll but came jarring through the water as if it had begun there, somewhere ahead and to the left,

rather than spreading more vaguely down from the distant sky.

Again! And Carn had faltered in his rhythm, as he did when surprised. And again. Ailsa turned

him towards the sound. No, not thunder—too short a rumble, and too regular. A boom, a pause.

Another boom, and pause. Another. Now straight ahead. After several more booms she began to

sense the distance, a few hundred lengths only. And from above the surface, not below.

Half consciously she had kept aware of the pattern of broad stripes, light and dark, that marked

the sunlit and shadowed slopes of the waves above, running slantwise to her path. She headed

Carn to cross them square, picked one wave and, watching it intently, pulled him into a climb

and flicked him to full surge, aiming a fin and a half below the moving wave crest. In the last

few strokes she lashed her own tail in rhythm with his to add to the speed of the outstrike.

The idea was to leave the wave as high as possible, so that your two bodies were well up into the

burning air while the blue-fin’s tail still had water to drive against. Then you saw how many

wave crests you could clear before the instrike. But the confusion of the moving wave roots

through which you were aiming made it harder than it may sound, and this time Ailsa struck so

low that they barely cleared the first crest. This was just as well, as it gave them a soft instrike,

and she wasn’t ready for it. She’d been distracted by what she’d glimpsed across Cam’s shoulder

at the top of the leap. Two great ships of the airfolk.

There were old wrecks littered around the mountain, but Ailsa had never seen floating ships

before, except in books.

White smoke puffed from the bows of the pursuer. Thunder rolled across the water. The shot fell

wide. They did not see the splash. On the afterdeck of the fleeing ship, sailors waited beside two

small cannon, four to each gun. Another boom, and a splash astern and to starboard.

“
Why do you not fire back ?
”
said the woman.
“
And why so many of you? Are you not needed to

sail the ship 7
”

One of the sailors answered.

“
We haven’t the range with these popguns, my lady. Weil fire as soon as our shot will reach

them. Our best hope is to dismast her, and for that we must handle our guns as well as we’re

able-two of us to lay and haul back after the recoil, one to swab out and load, and one to carry

powder.
”

“
My lord and I can at least carry powder. It will be better than waiting. Show us.
”

As they reached the companionway, the first shot struck. They felt the small boat’s timbers jar

with the impact, somewhere aft, low down.

They followed their guide on into the dark.

Ailsa put Cam onto a lead rope and floated herself up to a little behind the crest of a wave, with

only the top half of her head clear of the water. When that wave carried her astern, she dived and

repositioned herself. Carn circled impatiently below her, but dutifully kept the lead rope just

slack.

It took her a while to see, and then to understand, what the two ships were doing. Her eyes were

lensed and shaped for underwater vision, and too dazzled by sunlight to pick out any detail. At

first all she could be sure of was the two tall ships, the leading one bright, the other larger and

more grim. They were making the thunder, and with it sent out white stuff like clouds, which

rolled away on the wind. Then she heard a crash and a cry and the smaller ship seemed to stagger

for a moment in its course. Squinting beneath half-closed

lids, she saw airfolk at the front of the larger ship working some sort of dark pipe from which the

thunder and the smoke emerged. And yes, the airfolk at the back of the small ship were doing the

same, making a thinner boom, with less of the cloudy stuff Ailsa realised that the airfolk were

using the pipes to throw things at each other, not darts or spears, which were the merfolk’s

weapons, but dark balls which they crammed into the pipes between booms.

A heavier crash, and cries of many voices. The smaller ship staggered, swung sideways,

wallowed. Part of the towering white fins that seemed to drive it were twisted away, falling,

collapsing. The other ship came surging on with a mass of airfolk gathered at its front. Sunlight

flashed off weapons. There was a louder crash, bellows, screams, fighting. She watched, amazed

and distressed, until two figures appeared at the front of the stricken ship, one white and

glittering like sunlit spray, the other dark and tall. The fight continued, with the attackers driving

forward. Sharp whipping cracks rapped out amid the yells. The white figure—Ailsa, unthinking,

had drifted herself near enough to see that it was a woman-turned her head, watched the fight for

a moment, turned back and spoke.

“It is time to go,” she said softly.

She had let her green cloak Jail and stood at the rail in the dress that had been stitched for her

marriage, though not to this man. Ten thousand seed pearls patterned its surface, and on it she

had pinned every jewel she had brought, and they were many, for she was a king’s daughter. The

sun dazzled off her as if she had been white sea foam. On her cheek was a smoky burn, the back-