A Door Into Ocean Read Free Page B

the tree until the guards shooed them off. The tall one, Usha, would examine a sick child and produce bits of dried seaweed or powder for a cure, but she never broke the sign law to take payment. Even on the sly, the Sharers would not sell the fine seasilk they spun and wove into swirling patterns on their handloom. When the mayor’s man came to ask their business, they merely said they were waiting.
    Waiting for what? And what did they eat in the meantime? Some said the pair rose long before dawn to catch their own fish from the sea. Rumors spread of witchcraft practiced at nightfall, before the pair retired to their houseboat. Spinel scoffed at such nonsense, but he was curious enough so that one day he decided to find out for himself.
    That evening, Spinel loitered at the edge of the square until the sun touched the far sea, spreading sparks like quartz dust across the waves. Market vendors were wrapping unsold vegetables and dumping fish refuse over the wharf, while customers haggled wearily for last-minute bargains. The Sharers were intent on their work, as always. The great tree was now denser than ever with plaited masses of leaves that hung like folds of a fishing net. Crickets began chirping, and soon their throbbing chorus drowned out the last of the market sounds.
    Spinel had his eye on a long branch that swooped almost to the ground. He caught hold of it and swung lightly upward, steadying himself amid the leafy fabric. Through a break in the foliage, he could make out the Sharers below. He watched and waited.
    The rest of the square was deserted. The tree’s shadow lengthened until it reached the town hall. Night cloaked the town in velvet, with the stars like tiny jewels strung against it, and the queen of jewels was Shora, the blue moon, whose cold glow ruled the landscape.
    Below, Merwen stood and walked to a crate beside the handloom. There sat a large conch shell, and she poured a liquid from it into a squat potted plant.

    In an instant the plant glowed with golden phosphorescence. Merwen lit two more plants, and the light suffused the lower branches. This looked like magic, Spinel had to admit. He squirmed as if something were creeping up his spine.
    Where was the other one, he wondered suddenly: Usha, who gave out the medicines? His foot slipped and kicked a branch; loose bits of bark fell away. As quietly as he could, he swung down and across to get a closer look. Merwen was sitting on a mat away from the handloom, facing past him out over the harbor, where the wavelets flickered in the moonlight. Her head nodded slightly, and with the spidery fingers of one hand she fashioned something out of thread, a sort of laniard which lengthened as he watched.
    She was staring at him.
    Spinel knew this in a flash, and blood pounded in his ears. He lunged backward the way he had come, but he lost his footing in the darkness. A branch gave way, and the leafy seines no longer seemed so strong as he pulled at them in fistfuls. He swayed precariously, then tumbled down in a shower of torn leaves and powdered bark.
    Usha emerged from behind the tree. She crouched and glowered at him, and Spinel wished more than he had ever wished anything that he were elsewhere, anywhere, even in the dreary old schoolroom. Why had he not listened to his father? He wanted to run for it, but his feet stuck as if bewitched.
    â€œYou hurt?” Usha asked.
    He blinked, then vigorously shook his head.
    â€œYou hurt?” she repeated.
    â€œHe is not hurt,” said Merwen from her mat by the handloom. “Spinel stonecutter’s son, come sit here.”
    Shaking all over, he picked himself up and went to sit on a mat of green seasilk. Could he dream up some tale to get himself out of this fix? It would not work this time, he was sure. “What are you going to do with me?” he blurted at last.
    â€œShare learning,” Merwen said. “Share the ways of stone, and the ways of this.” She held out the woven