The Silver Ship and the Sea (3 page)

Kayleen chewed on her lower lip. “Do you think anyone besides us ever talks to her, or she to them? Does she have any friends at all?”

Down on the stage, Nava cleared her throat into the microphone. The crowd quieted. “Good morning. I believe everyone knows most of the news, but I will repeat it officially for the record.

“The earthquake yesterday registered nine point five, the second worst in our history.” She swept her gaze across the whole of the amphitheater. “First, to acknowledge our losses. Ten people, including Therese and Steven, died in a rock fall on the High Road above us.” Nava hesitated, and it seemed that her grief and the crowd’s grief and the knot in my stomach all bound together into something palpable, something with weight. I blinked, trying not to cry. Bryan squeezed my hand and Kayleen put an arm across my shoulders, steadying me. Nava continued. “We will mourn them together. Tomorrow night. They were our leaders, and would have wanted us to ensure our safety first. We will do that.

“We’ve started assessing damage. Nearly everything can be fixed; what cannot be fixed can be replaced. We made lists of tasks.” Nava pointed to a table with lists set out on it. “Some of you
have been preassigned based on skills. Others may choose spots to fill in. We need to work hard, even in our grief and pain. We need to beat the storm. Let us work together today, and eat together tonight, and work again tomorrow, and then we will mourn our dead.”

The crowd moved down, subdued, and began checking and completing lists, then drifted across the park or across streets or toward warehouses to begin the work. We were almost the last in line. I looked behind me for Jenna, but she had disappeared.

On the lists, Kayleen’s name was coupled with Paloma’s, to keep helping with data readings, assessing the overall damage to the network. Bryan’s assignment was to help repair hebra barns. My name had been scratched out of the list of people moving things from the damaged storehouse and written into the child-care list. So Nava
had
made sure I’d be near enough to check on Joseph. I closed my eyes, weak and swaying. Briefly grateful to Nava.

There were nearly sixty children between two and about ten years old, and four of us to manage them all. The kids were uncommonly subdued, moving in quiet groups, holding hands, whispering to each other, crying easily. We started in the park, to keep the buildings free for inspection and repairs. Heat and damp and wind drove us to the bowl of the amphitheater to organize tag games for the bigger kids. I sang songs with the littler ones, wiped noses, and comforted.

Three hours passed before I dug myself free to check on Joseph. The sky brooded above me as I walked home, the clouds a sickly yellow-green that blocked so much light it looked like early evening.

It was just past lunch.

Joseph sat up in his bed, back against the wall, his legs curled up to his chest, echoing one of the postures he used for data communing. Dried tear tracks showed on his cheeks. He offered a slight smile when I came in the door. “How do you feel?” I asked.

“Like you look.”

I smiled at that. “I’ve got child-care duty. Want to come help me with the kids?”

He looked down for a moment before meeting my eyes. “I got up to get water. I was so weak I almost fell again. Nothing hurts. I want to stay here, sleep.”

I frowned. “Jenna suggested we watch out for you. But that’s all she said.”

“She came to town?” Joseph’s eyes widened.

“To the meeting this morning. No one stopped her.”

“Wow. Why me? Didn’t she ask about us all?”

I shook my head. “Just you. But she could see
us,
after all. It’s going to storm something fierce.” During the last big storm, Joseph and I had stood outside in the lashing rain, leaning into the wind, laughing at the sheer power of it. “Are you sure you can’t go out?”

He nodded.

“The funeral is tomorrow evening. Will you go with me?”

He nodded, looking miserable, and I knelt over him and hugged him. “I love you, little brother. We’ll get through this.” Against my better judgment, I added, “Maybe they will let us stay by ourselves.”

He was quiet for a minute. “Do you really think so?”

I was always honest with him. “No, not really. Not if Nava’s in charge.”

“She’ll probably figure out the worst possible place for us, or split us up.”

“It won’t be that bad. She needs us functional, especially you.” I looked around. Because we’d been Therese and Steven’s, we lived in the town leader’s house. “We’ll have to move somewhere. If they don’t let us stay alone, maybe we can hook up with Paloma and Kayleen. Look, I’ve got to go.”

He smiled up at me, a sad smile, an expression I’d never seen on his face before. “Bye. See you tonight. I’ll try to at least make it to the kitchen table by then.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” I hugged him briefly, and left.

I returned just in time for the first thunder to shake us all into cowering, to paint fear on the children’s faces all over again. We gathered them from the corners of the amphitheater and started marching them to the street, needing cover. We were across the
street from the science guild hall when the rain slammed down like a wall, making it hard to even see the children it soaked. We counted noses inside the hall to make sure everyone was accounted for. Within a few minutes, dripping and worn-out parents started coming in to claim their tired children.

Full dark descended before Kayleen found me in the nearly empty guild hall. “Gosh I’m exhausted.” Her fingers twisted through her hair, combing the damp locks, just like at the breakfast table this morning.

I laughed. Even tired, Kayleen couldn’t be completely still. “Well, try managing sixty scared kids through a thunderstorm. They were as edgy as a trapped uncut male hebra, and they whined.”

“You like kids,” she teased.

“Sometimes.” I sighed and looked around. Only three children and one adult remained. They didn’t need me anymore. I reached for my coat. “Come on, let’s go. I want to check on Joseph. I was home a few hours ago, and he was talking, but he’s still weak.”

“Nava wants to see us. She’s going to your house.”

“You didn’t ask her about us living by ourselves, did you?”

Kayleen grinned at me. “Of course not. She thinks I’m next to useless, at least most of the time. I bet she just wants to check on Joseph and see if he ‘works’ again. She made
me
work pretty hard today.”

“How is the net?”

We stepped out into the driving rain, heads down, walking fast. Kayleen’s big feet made extra splashes in the growing puddles. We were soaked in moments. She said, “The immediate perimeter is weaved all right, but the outside is mostly silent. Only a few nodes seem to be working. With so many quiet nodes, the farthest ones may not be able to reach us. There are big holes. Mom and Nava think the quake wasn’t even centered here.” She pointed up at the sky. “Satellite data has been pretty sketchy between clouds and electrical interference from the storm, but we had clear pictures yesterday. There’s damage all up and down the High Road, and some of the paths by the lakes look blocked, too.”

We stepped carefully to avoid wide streams filling the low spots in the streets. “So did you hear from the roamers?”

“No. We’re hoping it’s just the bad data net.”

“Surely they’re all right. They’d have been outside.” I said it as much to reassure myself. “We’ll hear from them soon.”

I had to jog to keep up with Kayleen, even tired as she was. As we stopped to take our mud-covered shoes off, I was grateful to be home. When I pushed the door open, I expected to see Joseph. Instead, Nava sat at our kitchen table like she owned the place, scribbling notes on her pad and talking into her radio. She didn’t look up. “Hi, Chelo. I checked on Joseph and he refused to come out.” She frowned. “He wants to hear what I have to say. I need you to dig him up.”

I grimaced. “I’ll try. Let me change clothes.”

She glanced up long enough to see how wet I was, but even then she hesitated, as if giving me a few moments went against her core self. She nodded, then spoke to Kayleen, “I have a message for you to take to Paloma.”

“But—”

Nava held out a folded note. “Go home and get dry. We’ll see you at the group dinner. Fifteen minutes.”

Kayleen took the note, gave me a stricken look, then turned and went back into the storm.

It took ten minutes to find dry clothes and convince Joseph, who emerged grumbling and shaky from his bed, that he had to listen to Nava. It wasn’t like Nava couldn’t have just gone to Joseph’s room to say whatever she needed to say.

Once we sat down, she ignored us until she finished writing. Then she looked up at Joseph. “It’s good to see you can move, after all.” Her gaze switched to me. “Council met this afternoon during the worst of the storm. They elected me to run Artistos for the next six months; they’ll decide again after that. Tom and I are to move in here.”

So we would have to move. Maybe Paloma would take us in. Or Gianna. Gianna was nice to us.

Nava cleared her throat and shifted in her chair. “We’re to take over your guardianship. You’ll live with us, here.”

I glanced at Joseph. His face was impassive, but I knew him well enough to read the set of his body. Even sick and shocky, he stiffened at
this
news.

I took a deep breath. This was too fast. “I was hoping we could live by ourselves. There’s plenty of housing, and we’d be out of your way. Wouldn’t it be better for you to have the whole house?”

Nava looked at me evenly, her jaw set. “You still need to be watched. Lyssa suggested you will do better in your own home.”

I clamped my jaw shut, holding back. This was not the moment to take her on. It showed in every part of her stiff body language. If we had to live with her, this would be a good time to say thank you, but I just couldn’t make myself do it.

She pushed herself up from the table. “Coming to dinner?”

I shook my head. “No, I think Joseph’s too weak. I’ll fix him something here.”

“Suit yourself.” She left, leaving her papers on the table.

The storm pounded the roof with a fury wind all night. Hot hard rain drummed against the leaves outside my window, a backdrop to difficult dreams of Therese and Steven lost in a sea of stones.

I woke to a clear dawn. A light breeze carried the scent of mud and water in through chinks in the windowsills.

That day, I took care of children again. I struggled to find a way to feel good about living with Nava while I managed a team of nine-and ten-year-old children, picking up soaked and shattered tiles and stacking them in wagons. Maybe living with us would change Nava’s mind. Knowing the enemy would help us. We could earn her trust. I didn’t believe any of it, except that Tom would be good for Joseph. Maybe. All I really knew about Tom was that he was kinder to us than Nava, polite. But he wasn’t like Paloma, not a champion. He hadn’t really seemed to notice us much. Just after lunch, Gianna limped up to us, smiling softly at me.

Pain and exhaustion marred her thin face. “We heard from the roamers. Both bands. They’re all right”—she pushed back her long hair—“except that Gene Wolk died in the quake. But we were afraid we’d lost more.”

Gene used to carve all of us children little wooden trees and people. “I…I’ll miss him,” I stammered.

One more death to add to the list, one more face I’d never see again. At least Alicia and Liam were okay. “Are you okay?” Gianna asked.

I nodded. “As okay as anyone right now. Joseph’s having a hard time.”

“I’d heard that. I hope he’s better soon.” She smiled softly at me and limped away.

When the end-of-shift bell finally rang, my head hurt from thinking too hard and my shoulders and back blazed with pain from stacking tiles.

That evening, Joseph could walk without falling down. It hurt; he pinched his lips tightly closed and his eyes watered. We dressed carefully for the funeral in deep blue shirts, the formal color of Deerfly, and now of Fremont. It used to be the color of ship’s uniforms on
Traveler.
I brushed his black hair back from his eyes, but his face was still white and dark circles pooled under his eyes. He managed a small smile. I held him close and whispered, “I love you.”

He whispered back, “I love you, too. Let’s go. I’ll make it.”

As we walked, a deep red-gold sunset softened the wide wooden planks of the Lace River Bridge and sent light motes dancing along the top of the tiny wavelets as water rounded rocks.

People gave us room, walking around us, uncomfortable with our grief, weighted down with their own. We crossed the narrow Stream Bridge and took the muddy path toward the orchard. As we passed the smelter and woodshop, the path lights snapped on, making our way past the edges of the orchards easier. By the time we arrived at the funeral clearing, beads of sweat stood out on Joseph’s forehead.

I had been to funerals before, we all had. This was different, it
was my people, my guardians, and I hated every step. I was grateful that almost no one spoke to us, and grateful that they came. About half the crowd wore the formal deep blue. Others clearly came directly from work; dirt streaked their faces, their clothes were damp and their feet muddy. Hilario came, his head bandaged, led by his tiny blond sweetheart Isadora.

Gianna stood as greeter, dressed in formal blues, handing each of us who had lost a direct family member a white ribbon to tie around our upper arm. She hugged us as she gave us our ribbons, her eyes red from tears. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured in my ear. “I believe in you and your brother, and I know you have it hard sometimes, especially now. I’ll help you if I can.”

I held her back, squeezing her hard, wanting to hold on, but the next person stood in line and I turned away from her to help Joseph tie on his ribbon.

There must have been nearly a hundred ribbons; parents, brothers and sisters, life partners, and children. Everyone with a ribbon stood in the first circle around the wooden pyres. Jonas, Mary’s husband, stood near us, his face a mask of stoic calm except for the tears trailing down his cheeks.