Authors: Brian Braden
“Where did you put them?” she asked, intrigued.
Okta grinned even broader. “I think I found a boat worthy of the rat.”
“Okta, what did you do?” Atamoda looked at him from the corner of her eye. Before he could respond, Ezra bounded over.
“Okta! We’re ready. Come on, I can’t wait to see how well it works.” He tugged at Okta’s tunic like an eager child.
“Alright! Alright!” he laughed.
Ghalen spread his arms out and shook his head as if to say, “
We’re waiting”.
Another wave struck them slightly offset, and the flotilla lurched sideways again. Atamoda grabbed on to the nearest mast and held on. Unfazed, Okta strode to the bow raft.
How can he be so confident?
Atamoda knew in the next few moments she would either witness something amazing, or Okta’s failure.
“Ba-lok, haul in the old sea anchor!” Okta bellowed.
Aizarg stepped back away from the bow raft, allowing Ba-lok’s team to move forward. Ba-lok nodded and signaled to Ezra, Kol-ok, and several other men. Together, they repeatedly pulled in unison, until a pile of rope and sail lay in a heap at Okta’s feet, the three stitched sails now reduced to a tattered mess.
Ba-lok clucked softly. “It’s no wonder we couldn’t hold true into the wind anymore.”
Okta lingered a few moments over the old anchor. When deployed, the rope and sail were the light yellow color of denuded reed fibers. Now the sails and rope were stained dark green with black streaks.
Okta squatted next to the old sea anchor. Atamoda saw the confidence drain from his face.
“Okta, the flotilla turns. Are you ready?” Ghalen asked.
As if shaken from a trance, Okta looked up. “Deploy the sea anchor.”
Together, the men lifted the collapsed bag onto its side. The rope rings woven into its skin gave it a somewhat rigid shape, but the men struggled against the wind to push it over the sea wall. Several times, the wind blew the anchor backwards. Once, it partially inflated and almost slammed into the canopies.
Critical moments passed. The raft under her feet began to groan as the flotilla began a slow turn to starboard.
“Wave!” Ba-lok shouted. Off the bow, several crests away, another dark rogue rose.
“Get it in the water, now!” Okta seized the leading edge of the anchor, trying once again to drag it over the storm wall.
Atamoda looked back at the women staring in horror.
“What are you waiting for?” she shouted. “Get over there and push!”
The women surged forward, lending dozens of hands to the effort. The flotilla turned farther right, the storm wall now almost nighty degrees to the oncoming wave. The anchor teetered precariously on the edge of the wall for what seemed like an eternity before splashing into the sea.
The bag opened immediately and began to sink. The line quickly played out, guided by Ghalen through the storm wall aperture.
Atamoda looked left and saw the rogue wave towering above them.
It’s going to flip us!
The anchor line popped out of Ghalen’s hands as the bow snapped left, squarely into the wave. Several people, including Atamoda tumbled to the deck.
Atamoda scrambled to her feet as the rogue wave struck the arun-ki. With a deep bass thump, the Spine snapped tight. The decks buckled upward in a rapid, orderly succession down the length of the arun-ki. Instead of water sloshing from between the gaps, it sprayed straight upward. The jets shot up highest at the first rib, but each successive row of gaps shaved off more of the wave’s energy, until it produced only a little splash near the stern. Each row rose and fell in perfect harmony until the arun-ki gently slid down the wave’s backside.
The Lo stared in awe as the arun-ki molded itself perfectly to each successive wave. The Spine no longer lurched from side to side, but held straight and true like an iron bar. All rolling and sliding motion instantly ceased, and seventy rafts and boats pitched up and down as one. To Atamoda, the decks almost felt like solid ground.
A cheer went up from the crowd. Ghalen embraced Okta, slapping his back, followed by the rest of the men. Led by Atamoda, the Lo women surrounded the Master of Boats, smothering him with hugs and kisses.
Aizarg made his way through the crowd and embraced the sco-lo-ti of the Carp. “Blessed will Okta’s name be for all time, the Master of Boats.”
Okta turned red, obviously uncomfortable with all the attention.
“There is still much work to do,” he said in a gruff voice. “Kus-ge, Atamoda, now that we are true to the wind, we need more canopies.”
Aizarg laughed, and Atamoda relished the sound. “We can make canopies later.” He turned to the men. “Ba-lok, Levidi, secure the braziers atop the core rafts. I want fires tonight, let there be some warmth in this arun-ki for a change!”
Another cheer erupted from the Lo. Aizarg returned to the shelter of the canopies, followed by his people.
Atamoda lingered, watching as the Crane and Minnow dispersed to either side of the Spine, chattering excitedly and patting Okta on the back as they passed by. Still standing over the old sea anchor, Okta merely nodded and grunted, never taking his gaze off the stained heap of sail and line.
“Are you coming?” Alaya called to Atamoda.
“I want a few moments alone,” she said.
Alaya smiled and turned to join the others. A Lo never had to explain to another the need for solitude.
Atamoda strolled to the pylon. She needed a few moments to herself before returning to the Köy-lo-hely and all its duties. In all her life, she never thought solitude would be such a precious luxury.
She closed her eyes, surrendering to the wind and rain.
Now the sea has a rhythm!
The tension ebbed from her shoulders. The ever present knot in her stomach, her constant companion since Aizarg departed on his quest, relented.
Atamoda blew out a long, slow breath and opened her eyes.
“North.” Okta stood next to her, the old sea anchor and line heaped over his shoulder like some disemboweled sea monster. He sounded tired, his face pale and washed out under the rivulets of rainwater.
“What?” she asked. His expression concerned her. This wasn’t the look of a man who had just saved his people.
He pointed off the bow. “That is north. The wind and current work as one and carry us south.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I still smell the stink of the g’an.”
***
Levidi flopped down on the deck next to Ghalen, who reclined on a partially destroyed boat with his fish ration resting upon his stomach.
Alaya tended the nearby brazier, throwing twigs and sticks scooped from the sea onto the coals. The heat felt good, but Levidi wished it were hotter.
He yearned for the sun, but wouldn’t voice his complaint aloud, except perhaps to Alaya later that evening.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Levidi remarked through a wad of dried fish stuffed in his mouth. “The way the deck no longer buckles wildly.”
“How do you have any energy to talk?” Ghalen grunted. “I’m too tired to even eat.”
“Always enough energy to eat, always enough to talk.” Levidi considered how the firelight highlighted the fullness of Alaya’s bottom. “Always enough energy for other things.”
Ghalen chuckled, never opening his eyes. “Here we are, adrift on an endless sea, with no promise for tomorrow, and you think about mounting your woman!”
“Hard work makes me restless.”
“Hard work makes me tired. Okta was merciless today, but it’s good to be dry and not sleeping packed together on the wedding barge.”
After a few backslaps and congratulations following deployment of the sea anchor, Okta had them working again.
Stacks of mats and fresh rope the women had woven over many days were strung in short order across the arun-ki, finally shielding the majority of the flotilla from the pounding rain. People quickly spread out to either side of the Spine, taking possession of rafts and boats.
The fact that the Minnow took one side and the Crane took another wasn’t lost on Levidi.
Sana assisted Alaya and several Minnow women in tending to the children, including many orphans. Levidi considered the children sitting cross-legged around the brazier. Their large, mournful eyes followed Sana, Alaya, and the old Minnow hag, Kirabol, warming their rations on sticks over the brazier, struggling to keep the crumbling strips from falling into the flames.
So many.
The warm feeling of accomplishment ebbed away.
Sana reached into the fire, trying to pluck bits that fell into the iron pan.
“Stupid a-g’an!” Kirabol scolded. “Wrap it in a wide reed and tie it to the stick like this.”
How did that old strip of leather survive the wave?
So many strong, young Lo had been washed away, yet this old humpback survived.
Levidi knew little of Kirabol, other than that the Minnow said the old woman rivaled Setenay in age. Her broken, bent body and twisted nose reminded Levidi of an old snapping turtle.
Ba-lok said the old spinster was mad and lived alone in a hut on the Minnow arun-ki’s downstream edge. Setenay dutifully cared for her until the day she left for the quest. For some reason, Kirabol now spent more time with the Crane than her own clan.
Now the snapping turtle wanted a piece of Sana.
Kirabol snatched a piece of reed from the overhead canopy and grabbed the end of Sana’s stick. “Like this.”
Claw like fingers danced for a moment, and then the fish clung dutifully to the stick.
“Don’t stick it too long in the fire; you only need to warm it enough to comfort the children.”
Levidi saw the defiance simmering in the Scythian girl, but he admired the way she held her tongue.
The women warmed the food and then broke it into pieces and handed it to reaching little hands. The scene reminded Levidi of mother birds feeding their chicks.
Once the children were fed, the women affixed their rations to sticks and roasted them.
The faint hint of roasted fish lingered. Levidi’s stomach growled, and he wished he hadn’t gobbled his food so quickly, regretting the lost opportunity for warm food.
Alaya sat down next to him, gingerly popping crispy flakes into her mouth.
Mouth watering, Levidi gave her a longing stare.
“You ate yours!”
He continued to stare.
Alaya rolled her eyes. “Oh, alright, just stop looking at me that way! Open your mouth.”
She popped a steaming chunk into his mouth. The fire seemed to unlock juice trapped in the fish, softening it into a delectable morsel.
“You’re pitiful,” she whispered with a seductive smile.
Levidi bestowed a long thank-you kiss, squeezing her bottom in the process.
Always enough energy for that.
Levidi sensed the newly born fires already warming the arun-ki beneath the canopies. They beat back the rain and cold only a few feet, but enough to create a delicate cocoon of life.
He looked to his left to see Ghalen sitting up, staring at Sana, who sat next to Ba-tor, feeding him.
She has a great deal of food.
The other women had already finished their rations and were preparing the children for bed. Yet Sana still fed the children rations.
Then Levidi realized the Scythian girl was feeding Ba-tor her rations.
“Scythian,” Ghalen barked.
Sana looked up, eyes narrowing.
“Ghalen, she’s...” Levidi tried to interrupt, but Ghalen ignored him.
“Scythian, come here,” he repeated.
Glaring, Sana stood and approached.
Ghalen held out his ration. “Make yourself useful and cook this for me.”
Everyone stopped eating and watched the drama unfold.
Ghalen and Sana stared at one another with iron resolve.
“Ghalen,” Levidi whispered. “Alaya can do that for you.”
Ghalen held up his hand. “She needs to carry her own weight.”
Levidi thought about how much Sana had cared for the Lo children.
Sana crossed her arms. Levidi saw the fire in her eyes and suddenly remembered how she battled them on the g’an.
The Nameless God help us, she’s a Scythian.
“Good luck with this,” Levidi whispered and slid right to get some distance, pushing Alaya with him.
“What’s he doing?” Alaya said in a low tone.
“Being an ass.”
“Cook it,” Ghalen commanded again.
As if the wind changed directions, something suddenly shifted in Sana’s demeanor. She smiled warmly and took the fish cake from Ghalen’s hand.
In a few moments, Sana secured the fish to the stick just as Kirabol had instructed. Relaxed, she turned the fish back and forth over the brazier. She smiled at Ghalen in a way Levidi thought perversely seductive.
“How does the Lo lord prefer his flesh?” She slid one hand down to her thigh, slowly pulling back the deerskin to reveal where her smooth, muscled thigh joined her bottom’s round curve. She held out the stick with the steaming fish. “Does he prefer it warm when he puts it to his lips, or perhaps too hot to touch?” She waived the stick back and forth over the fire.