I think of the Plood and the Darkness. Of how they are said to leave ruin behind. I think of how Callie came to me out of that ship and made my life rich beyond measure.
I think of the men’s eyes, and the tribesman who was cast out.
I think of the thing in the cage, patient and quietly mocking.
21
- Callie-
The morning after the splix run doesn’t feel like a morning should. There’s no clean edge to it, no sense of beginning. The light creeps in gray and pale, through a dense layer of cloud, diffused by smoke that never fully clears from the platforms. Everything smells of splix, raw and drying.
My hair still carries it when I wake, and when I sit up and breathe, it’s like the ocean itself has followed me into the hut.
Crat'ax is already awake. He’s outside somewhere, his voice low and steady, giving instructions. He doesn’t come back in when he hears me stir. That’s the usual way. Mornings like this belong to the tribe, not to us.
I pull on the modified dress Carter’ez made for me and step out onto the platform. The village is busy in a way that feels almost sluggish, like a body moving after fever. Men walk past with baskets of splix, with knives, with lengths of cord. Others crouch by racks where yesterday’s catch already hangs in neat rows, silver skins dulling as they dry. The platforms creak under theweight of it all. Food for months, maybe years. It’s great wealth stacked in plain sight.
There are many strangers still here.
I notice them right away, with their swords and different colored stripes. They stand out not because of that, but because of how they stand. The men from the Dry tribes linger near the edges of the platforms instead of moving with purpose. Some squat and talk quietly among themselves. Others lean on the poles and watch.
And it ismethey’re watching. They were all waiting for me to come out.
Their eyes track me when I move. When I stop to help Gren’ix sort baskets of dried splix guts, I feel the weight of their attention like a pressure between my shoulder blades. When I straighten and wipe my hands on my thighs, a few of them look away too quickly. They should have left by now. The canoes are ready.
I tell myself they’re waiting for something else. For a final bargain. For news. For the fire to be lit again.
But I know better.
When I walk toward the common Circle, a conversation falters. It’s subtle. Just a half-beat of silence, then voices pick up again, louder, rougher, as if nothing happened. I catch fragments as I pass.
“…never seen so much splix…”
“…the net…”
“…the woman. How much iron for her?”
I don’t slow down. I don’t speed up either. I’ve learned that much already.
I glance, without meaning to, toward the distant platform where the cage sits. It’s far enough away that I can’t see details from here, just the dark shape of it rising from the water, ugly and unmistakable. My stomach tightens anyway. The dragon doesn’t move. Or maybe he does, and I just can’t see it. What are their plans with him?
“Callie.”
Crat'ax’s voice reaches me from behind. I feel relief before I feel anything else. He comes closer, his shadow falling over me, solid and familiar. He somehow manages to smell really good and fresh, despite the splix smell everywhere around us.
He puts a hand on my arm. “Did you eat something? This is the time for grilled splix. Most of us like it even better than smoked.”
“I’m sure Theodora would like it, too,” I reply.
“She will. But she may need to eat the smoked kind. The splix can only be fried today, when it’s fresh. Later they won’t be that good.”
He gestures toward a basket being carried past. One of the Dry men slows, just a little, watching us. Crat'ax doesn’t notice. Or he does, and doesn’t think it matters.
“Some of them are still here,” I say, keeping my voice low.
“So it seems.” He watches the movement of the village, eyes sharp. “There’s more splix than ever before.”
“The trading is over now, right?”
